


The Fundamental Things Apply

by princesstigerlily



Series: Anatomy of a Schitt's Creek Rom-Com [1]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:34:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 37,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23252539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princesstigerlily/pseuds/princesstigerlily
Summary: The Sleepless in Seattle AU you know you all wanted.David is a gallery owner in Toronto about to marry Jake, a man he's not sure he loves. Patrick is an accountant who recently moved to Seattle, grieving the loss of his wife and feeling guilt over the secret he never got a chance to share with her. It takes an accidental radio interview for their stories to collide.
Relationships: David Rose/Jake, Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Patrick Brewer/Ken, Patrick Brewer/Rachel, Stevie Budd & David Rose, Theodore "Ted" Mullens/Alexis Rose, Twyla Sands/Mutt Schitt
Series: Anatomy of a Schitt's Creek Rom-Com [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1997902
Comments: 170
Kudos: 233





	1. Chapter 1

Patrick stood, still and silent. It was a windy day, the air brisk and chill, but he didn’t notice. Didn’t notice his pants whipping around his ankles or his curls blustering around his face. He knew the priest was speaking, could see his lips moving out of the corner of his eye, but all Patrick could hear was a high pitched ringing as he stared at the granite stone in front of him. His daughter squirmed in his grasp and he loosened his hold on her shoulders, but didn’t let go. She was the only thing grounding him that day.

Suddenly, like in the movies, sound returned to him. People were slowly moving past them, offering sympathetic platitudes or pats on the shoulder. Patrick didn’t move. He barely acknowledged his friends and family as they made their way past him, away from Rachel and her final resting place.

“Daddy?”

Mariah’s voice was thin and unsure, barely more than a whisper.

“Yes, bug?”

Patrick tried not to sound too broken as he answered her.

“I don’t...I don’t understand. Why did Mommy have to die?”

Patrick could feel his heart breaking at his daughter’s question. It wasn’t one he felt like he could ever answer. Why did Rachel have to die?

“I don’t know, baby,” Patrick answered, squeezing her shoulders in comfort. “She got sick. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. She didn’t do anything wrong. She just...got sick.”

“But she went to the doctor.”

“She did. And the doctor helped her for a while, but...they did everything they could, but it wasn’t enough. Sometimes that happens. Sometimes it’s not enough.”

Mariah turned, wrapping her arms around Parick’s waist and burying her face in the crisp cotton of his funeral shirt. Patrick felt a damp spot growing from the tears slowly coursing down her cheeks. “I miss her,” she whispered.

Patrick cradled the back of her head, mindful of all the pins holding her usually unruly curls in place. His mother had painstakingly put it up this morning at Mariah’s insistence. She had wanted to look beautiful for her mother. Patrick bent down and kissed the top of her head. “I miss her, too.”

“Patrick?”

Patrick turned to see Twyla standing just a few feet behind him, her black and white floral dress fluttering around her in the breeze. He could see that her eyes were red, her usually sunny face tight and drawn.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, “take your time. Just...all the other cars are leaving. Your mom and dad said they’ll open your house and get everything ready for the reception.”

“Thanks, Twyla.”

“Mutt and I will wait for you and Mariah.” Twyla gestured back towards the path that would lead them out of the cemetery, where Mutt who stood with his hands in pockets, his hair falling over his face. Grateful for the support of his friends on the worst day of his life, Patrick nodded.

“Take your time,” Twyla said again.

Patrick and Mariah stood silently a few more minutes, both staring at the coffin that held the body of the vibrant, loving woman who had made up the third of their little family. It hadn’t been perfect, their life together. But it was theirs, and now that it had been ripped apart, Patrick wasn’t sure how to go on.

Worse than the grief of losing Rachel was the guilt Patrick felt clawing at his heart. She’d been sick for so long, but he’d always hoped he would have the time to tell her what he’d finally realized, why their marriage was so much more of a struggle than it should have been. It wasn’t her fault. He wished she knew that. But as she had gotten sicker and sicker, he could never find the right time to bring it up. Now he never could.

“Daddy, can we go home now?”

Patrick looked down at the tear streaked face of his daughter and nodded. He took her hand in his and led her away from her mother. Twyla and Mutt fell in step beside them, offering silent support, and the little group made their way out of the cemetery to the last black car waiting to take them home.

_ It doesn’t feel like home anymore _ , Patrick thought as they drove past familiar streets and buildings, trees and telephone wires blurring together through his tears.  _ Not without her _ .


	2. Chapter 2

If he were being honest, David would say he had just made a colossal mistake. Jake had asked him to marry him. Jake. Jake St. James, the furniture maker that nine months ago had accidentally stumbled into the art world by virtue of a series of chainsaw carvings David had reluctantly displayed in his gallery, whose broad muscles and simple, home-spun persona had so easily charmed David into his bed (or, more often than not, the Rose Salon and Solarium supply closet), and who, up until about three weeks prior, had also been sleeping with David’s best friend and office manager, Stevie.

But David had long ago learned to lie to himself, learned how to paint on a brave face in the morning along with his moisturizer and tell himself that he was happy, and so here he was, thirty-five years old and engaged to marry a man whose best quality was his shoulders.

David looked out around the table, laden with a Christmas feast - his parents arguing and reminiscing over Christmases long past, his sister and her husband canoodling across from him, Stevie, all but adopted by the Rose family some years ago, jealously holding onto the neck of her beer bottle, like she was worried someone would take it away if she let go for too long. And of course, Jake, sitting beside him, carelessly shoving turkey into his mouth with one hand while the other felt up David’s thigh, his fingers occasionally glancing across the semi David was desperately trying to will away. David could feel his lip curling back as he sipped his wine, his stomach roiling with anxiety at the thought of announcing his engagement to this collection.

As if he had read David’s mind, Jake took a long swig of his beer, sighing in satisfaction and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, then said, “You should tell your folks your news, huh?”

David cringed, his body instantly folding into itself.

“News?” Stevie asked, her mouth curling up sharp and teasing. “I didn’t know you had news to share, David. Tell us!”

“Yes, David!” Moira agreed, demanding and petulant. “What is the meaning of this skullduggery, keeping secrets from your family at this felicitous time of year?”

David took a breath, trying to make himself sit up straight. This was his family. They loved him, in their own ways. And this...this was a  _ good  _ thing, wasn’t it? He was happy, right?

“Well,” David began, a simpering smile on his face. “Jake and I...Jake...well, he and I were talking yesterday, and…” He trailed off, the words swallowing back into his throat with every try.

Finally, Jake removed his hand from David’s thigh and clapped it on his shoulder instead, raising up his beer bottle. “David’s agreed to make an honest man outta me. We’re getting married.”

The announcement was followed by an explosion of sound, everyone trying to talk at once.

“Oh my god, David!”

“Congrats, bud!”

“What a joyous fete we have to look forward to!”

“Oh, David, I’m so happy for you!!”

David preened under the attention, the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach momentarily filled with the adoration and congratulations from his family. As his father stood to shake Jake’s hand and Alexis reached across the table to boop him on the nose, David told himself that the anxious tingling he felt around his heart was happiness. Jake really was a decent guy, and David did enjoy their time together. He could be happy with Jake’s company for the rest of his life. Jake’s hand moved to squeeze the side of his neck, and David leaned in closer, letting his cheek nudge against Jake’s affectionately.

As the rest of the Rose family peppered them with questions about the upcoming wedding, questions Jake was all too willing to answer despite them having decided on nothing, David noticed Stevie was unusually quiet, choosing to nurse her beer and eye them speculatively instead of jumping in with her usual teasing. Catching her eye, David smiled softly, desperate for her approval. Stevie didn’t say anything, just reached under the table for David’s hand and squeezed.

* * *

“Dad, can this wait?” David huffed, following his father up the stairs to the attic. Though the Roses’ housekeeper made sure to keep the attic as tidy as the rest of the house, David coughed at an invisible cloud of mothballs as they stepped through the door, waving theatrically in front of his face to further make his point. “It’s just, Stevie opened the last bottle of the Merlot and if she and Alexis drink it all before I get there-”

“Sit down, son,” Johnny said, gesturing to a spindly antique chair sitting amid trunks of Moira’s old theater accouterments.

David grunted at the chair in disgust, his lips pursing at the crushed pink velvet. Gingerly, he sat, resting the majority of his weight on the balls of his feet. He had just had a long argument with Alexis about how he had absolutely  _ not _ put on any holiday weight, and was not willing to lose said argument by this frail little chair splintering beneath him.

“Yes?” David asked, once he was finally settled.

“Well,” Johnny began, rubbing his hands together the way he always did when he had something on his mind. “I just wanted to have a little talk, son. You’re going to be getting married soon and I just thought we should...speak as men do.”

It was all David could do to keep the grimace off his face. “Must we?”

“I remember when your mother and I got engaged, David.” Johnny’s voice had gotten louder, talking over David’s quip. He rocked back on his heels and looked out the little turret window as if looking back on a memory. “I can remember it like it was yesterday. The dinner we ate, the music we danced to. She was wearing Genevieve at the time, her hair long and blond, just the slightest hint of curl. She was beautiful.” Johnny smiled wistfully, remembering that night, then looked back up to David. “Still is, of course. We went for a moonlit stroll, and I knew.”

David folded his arms across his stomach, his shoulders climbing higher and higher as he listened to his father’s story, watching stars come alive in his father’s eyes. “Knew what?” he asked, against his better judgement.

“I knew she was it. I knew she was the one. The only woman in the world I wanted to spend my life making happy.”

David didn’t respond. Unease began to sit low in his stomach. He hadn’t really thought of that. He wanted to make himself happy, he knew that. He wanted someone to love him and to want to spend their life with him. He loved Jake. Or at least, he thought he did - he loved the things Jake was offering him. He didn’t always seem to understand David, but he never made him feel bad about himself, was content to let David be who he was. He’d engage with the parts of David he understood and left David alone to deal with the parts he didn’t. And he certainly knew how to bring David mind blowing pleasure with his body. Who wouldn’t want a lifetime of that?

But...did he want to spend his life making Jake happy?

“How did it happen, son?” Johnny asked, his face soft with encouragement. “I know you’ve always wanted a big romantic moment. Did you ask, or Jake?”

A harsh flush bloomed on David’s face. “Uh…” he trailed off, not sure how to respond. He certainly couldn’t tell his father the real story, that Jake had asked while balls deep inside him. That it hadn’t even really been a question. Shame and arousal licked up David’s spine as he thought back to how Jake had stopped by the gallery the week before, bent David over his desk, and told him they should get married so he was guaranteed an ass as good as David’s for the rest of his life. He’d tugged on David’s hair and flooded his ass with cum and David said okay.

“It was more casual,” David was just able to squeak out. “Just...came up over lunch and we decided to go for it.”

“...Oh,” Johnny said, stumbling over his words. “Oh, well...well, that’s good, too, son. I mean...that kind of comfort with a partner...that-that’s good. Right? That’s very good.”

“Yeah, I guess.” David shrugged noncommittally.

Johnny was surprised by David’s reticence. David had been planning and dreaming of extravagant wedding proposals since he was a child. There was a whole section, right up front in his wedding diary. Sometimes David would be the one proposing, and sometimes he was the one being proposed to, but there was always drama and romance, and it broke Johnny’s heart just a little to know his son wouldn’t have that.

“Are we done here?” David asked, standing up from the chair, his thighs burning from where they had been holding all his weight.

“Uh...yeah, yeah, we’re done. Except…” Johnny held out his arms. David rolled his eyes, but allowed himself to be pulled in for a hug. He even melted into it just a little bit. “I’m happy for you, son.”

* * *

David waved again as Ted and Alexis finally closed the front door behind them. He was exhausted, and so ready for this whole night to be over. All David wanted was to get in his car, drive home, and dive underneath the covers, never to be heard from again. His bed was so soft, so comfortable. He could contentedly live out the rest of his days there. Maybe if he gave her a raise Stevie would deliver food straight to his bedroom. Starting with the lemon pancakes from the breakfast place down the street from the gallery.

David was pulled out of his reverie by Jake’s lips on his own and a hand reaching out to cup him through his pants. He pulled back in surprise to see a slow grin spreading across Jake’s face.

“Sure you don’t want to come back to my place tonight, babe?” Jake asked, strong fingers teasing David’s cock to life. “You can drive, and I’ll suck you off on the way home.”

David cleared his throat, trying to divert some of his attention away from his cock. “You’ve got that meeting out of town in the morning,” he reminded him, gasping softly as Jake ran his thumbnail along David’s zipper. “And I’ve got a designer coming into the gallery first thing. We’ll need both our cars.”

Jake drew back, leaving David feeling suddenly cold and empty. He nodded easily, David’s reasoning sound. “Suit yourself,” he said. “Love you.”

As Jake turned towards his truck, they both caught sight of Stevie standing behind them with her arms crossed over her chest and a smug look on her face. She raised her eyebrows, pointedly nodding towards David’s crotch.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” she laughed.

Jake reached a hand out to grip Stevie’s waist and leaned down, planting a firm kiss to her lips. Then with a nod to them both, he sauntered towards his truck.

Stevie and David didn’t speak, just watched Jake climb into the cab and drive off. When he’d finally turned the corner out of sight, Stevie reached out and punched David on the arm. Hard.

“Ow!” David cried, gripping the throbbing bicep. “What the fuck, Stevie?”

“Jake?” Stevie drew her first back in preparation for another hit, but David shied away from her. “Are you seriously going to marry  _ Jake _ ?”

“I...yes?” David’s fingers tangled together in front of him, fidgeting anxiously. “Yes, I’m marrying Jake.”

“Jake is a slut.”

“Excuse me, the Roses are a sex positive family. That kind of language is not appreciated. Jake is...generous with the gifts of his body.”

“David.” Stevie stood with her hands on her hips, feet solid. She looked like she was gearing up for a fight, and David just knew it wasn’t one he was going to win. “I know you two love each other in your own twisted ways, but...Jake will sleep with anything with a pulse. And I know that’s not what you want. That’s not the kind of marriage you want. You want  _ one person _ .”

“You don’t know everything, Stevie,” David said, crossing his arms over himself defensively. “We’ve been engaged for a week. And he’s the one who asked me. Maybe that’s all he needed to be monogamous.”

“He slept with me three days ago.”

David’s mouth dropped open, bobbing up and down like a fish as he tried to think of anything to say in response. “I thought,”-David gulped, trying to get his voice under control-“I thought that stopped when you started dating Emir. You...stopped sleeping with both of us.”

Stevie shrugged, her stance softening. “I don’t think Emir is exactly the settling down type either.” She took a few steps closer, awkwardly patting David’s shoulder. “But look, now that I know you’re engaged...Jake and I are done.”

David nodded, swallowing thickly. It was getting harder to lie to himself.

“And hey,” Stevie continued, wrapping her arms around herself in a mirror of David, “what do I know? Maybe this is what makes you happy. Polyamory’s a real thing, you know. It’s not just slutty people who can’t keep it in their pants.”

“I am aware, yes.”

“Look, just…” Stevie sighed. She wasn’t good at this. Giving advice, making sound relationship choices? Not something she was ever equipped to deal with. But she loved David; had been  _ in _ love with him once upon a time, but thankfully that love had faded and in its place grew the strongest friendship she’d ever known. She just wanted the best for him. “I want you to be happy. So just talk to him. Tell him what you want out of a marriage. Listen to what he wants. And then...see what you can make out of that.”

* * *

David didn’t often take many long drives late at night, but when he did, he found that music made him anxious. Even his absolute favorites turned his nerves into a jangling mess and his stomach into a knot of pain and nausea. Silence, however, was absolutely unbearable, just a doorway to a spiral of hell and self-loathing. So on these rare occasions where he found himself behind the wheel while the rest of the world slept, he turned to talk radio.

Usually, he didn’t pay much attention to the words being spoken, just let the soothing voices wash over him, calming and relaxing him like he was settling into a warm bath. Tonight wouldn’t have been any different, but the high-pitched little voice that squeaked across the airwaves was anything but calming.

David didn’t much care for children, and he was about to switch the station to find a voice in a more pleasing octave, but the little girl’s name stilled his hand.

“Hi, caller this is Dr. Jocelyn Schitt, can you tell our listeners your name, please?”

“Mariah,” she said, and now David had to listen in order to judge if she was worthy of the name.

“Hi, Mariah,” Dr. Jocelyn Schitt said, her voice going up in pitch once she realized she was speaking to a child, smoothing out to something sweet and gentle. “You’re a little younger than our usual callers. How old are you?”

“Just turned nine.”

“Wow, nine years old. And what can I help you with tonight, Mariah?”

“I think my Dad needs a new wife.”

Dr. Schitt let out a little chuckle, much gentler than the snort of laughter David let out.

“What’s wrong with the one he’s got?” Dr. Schitt asked.

“He doesn’t have one, and I think he’s lonely.”

“Where’s your mom?”

“She died.” David’s breath caught in his chest. As much as he usually claimed to hate children, something about this little girl tugged on his heartstrings. “Two years ago she got sick.”

“Ohh,” Dr. Schitt cooed, “oh, honey, I’m so sorry.”

“I was real sad when it happened. And I still miss her a lot, every day! But...I think my dad is sadder. He’s just...he’s quiet all the time now and he doesn’t do things like he used to. We moved to a whole nother country so he wouldn’t miss her so much, but I don’t think it worked.”

“And that’s why you think he needs a new wife?”

“Yeah, he just...he needs someone to make him happy again. Or at least teach him how to cook.”

David made a face at the radio while Dr. Schitt laughed. “C’mon, Mariah, you’re better than that heteronomativity,” he said, clicking his tongue in disappointment.

“Mariah, is your dad around?”

“He’s downstairs.”

“You know what I think would really help?” David side-eyed the radio, not sure he trusted the overly kind voice emanating from it. “I think you should go give the phone to your dad and let me talk to him.”

David gasped. “Ooh, no, girl, don’t do it!” he yelled, fully aware of how much it sucked to have therapy sprung on you like a surprise party.

_ If you can even call this therapy _ , he sniffed.

“Uh...I don’t think he’d like that.”

“Mariah, listen to me, honey,” Dr. Schitt said gently. “I just want to help. And I think when he hears how concerned you are about him, he’ll appreciate that you called in.”

“Okay.” A loud sigh came through the radio clearly stating Mariah’s skepticism at the idea. “But if he gets mad, I’m not listening to your show anymore.”

* * *

“Dad?”

Patrick looked up from where he was scraping the last of their Christmas dinner into the garbage can. He had tried, he really had, but the chicken had gotten burnt and the potatoes were lumpy and the vegetables limp and soggy. He’d seen right through Mariah’s attempts at telling him how good everything was, and it broke his heart a little that she would do that for him.

“What’s up, bug?”

Patrick crinkled his eyebrows in concern as Mariah shuffled towards him, his cell phone clutched close to her chest. She looked guilty, her usual boisterous demeanor gone soft and timid. She held out the phone.

“There’s someone one the phone for you.”

Patrick took the phone and put it to his ear, only half paying attention as he kept a wary eye on Mariah.

“Yeah, this is Patrick.”

“Hi, Patrick, this is Dr. Jocelyn Schitt from Network America and you are on the air.”

“Oh, you know what, I don’t think we need any-”

“Oh, no, Patrick,” Dr. Schitt interrupted. “I’m not selling anything. I’m just here to listen and help. I’m here because your daughter called into our program to ask for some advice.”

“Advice on what?”

“She called because she thinks you need a new wife.”

Patrick practically did a spit take as his brain finally caught up with what was happening. “She did what?” He turned to see Mariah hiding behind the Christmas tree, two great big eyes peeking around the branches to stare at him. “You did  _ what _ ?”

“Patrick.” Dr. Schitt used the same gentle voice on Patrick that she had with Mariah, soothing but with an air of authority. “Patrick, she called because she is concerned about you. Please talk to me. Let’s see if I can help.”

Slowly, almost robotically, Patrick made his way over to the Christmas tree. Mariah looked so earnest and sad, those brown eyes looking at him with such concern. He sat down cross legged on the floor in front of it, reaching out a hand to circle one of Mariah’s ankles, just holding it there to keep them connected. He would do anything for her.

“Okay.” His voice came out husky and he cleared his throat, trying to dislodge the lump that had formed. “Uh...what should I…?”

“How about you tell me how you’ve been coping with your wife’s death?”

“Well, uh...it happened about two years ago. Mariah and I, we...we’ve moved out here to Seattle. Too many memories where we were before. It wasn’t...it wasn’t home anymore. This was a fresh start. And we’ve...we’ve done okay. We’re doing okay.”

“I’m not sure if that’s true, if Mariah still has these concerns,” Dr. Schitt said gently.

Patrick looked up into Mariah’s face, lit up with colors from the lights on the tree. He tugged on her leg and she folded herself up, crawling into his lap and wrapping skinny arms around his neck. He buried his face in her curls, breathing in the scent of her, letting the love he felt for his daughter ground him as she always did.

“Look, I…” Patrick sighed. He hadn’t been prepared for this. He’d spent the last two years boxing up all his feelings about his marriage and Rachel’s death, and he hadn’t been prepared for someone to come in and open all the boxes and ask him to explain them all. “Rachel loved Christmas. This was always her favorite time of year, from the lights to the carols to the cold weather. She...she made out home so beautiful, so  _ joyful _ . And never that kind of fake, schmaltzy cheer. You couldn’t help but feel truly happy with her at Christmastime.”

Patrick tangled his fingers in Mariah’s curls, holding her tight against him, rocking her slightly. He squeezed his eyes shut, clearing his throat before he continued. “And then two Christmases ago she got sick. She got sick and she was gone by the spring.” He sighed. “I know how much Mariah misses her. I know how much she needs her, needs me to be all the things Rachel was for her.”

“Do you think maybe you need someone, too?”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Have you tried?” Dr. Schitt asked. “Have you tried to meet other women, go on any dates?”

“I just feel so guilty…”

Dr. Schitt hummed sympathetically. “That’s very normal, Patrick, to feel like moving on would be a betrayal of the one you loved. But I’m here to tell you, it’s not. We’re not meant to be alone, and I know your wife wouldn’t want you to be, just for her sake.”

“It’s not that, it’s...look, I loved my wife very much, but we had a lot of problems. We’d been together since high school, were best friends, but could never seem to make it work. We’d break up and get back together, break up and get back together. It was only once we had Mariah that we settled down and got married. And no matter how wanted and loved Mariah was - and let me make it clear, my daughter is the love of my life - a new baby is not a magic fix to a relationship. But we...we wanted to make it work. For Mariah’s sake, for our own sake. We wanted to make it work, but…”

Patrick trailed off, feeling Mariah’s warm breath against his throat. He wasn’t sure why he was saying all this, how this Dr. Schitt was able to get him to open up so thoroughly. He wasn’t sure if maybe this wasn’t bad parenting, letting his daughter hear him speak so plainly about the problems he and her mother had had. But it just kept pouring out of him.

“But?” Dr. Schitt prompted.

“A few months before she got sick, I began to realize why our marriage never quite felt the way it should. Why the fact that we cared about each other so much wasn’t enough. It feels ridiculous that it took me until my mid-twenties to figure it out, but it did. And once I...once I finally got the courage to tell her, that was when she got sick. And I couldn’t tell her then. My revelation wasn’t something she needed to deal with while she was fighting for her life. But now she’s gone, and I’ll never get to tell her. We’ll never...talk about it, decide what to do together, how we want to live our lives, how we want to parent Mariah. She'll never know none of it was ever her fault.”

“That sounds really hard, Patrick.” Patrick let out a breath at Dr. Schitt’s affirmation. He’d never voiced those feelings before and he begrudgingly admitted to himself that it felt good to acknowledge them. “That’s a very difficult thing, when there are things left unsaid to someone who has gone. But you shouldn’t let that keep you from new experiences. Now, maybe you don’t need to be looking for a new wife just yet like Mariah suggested, but there’s nothing wrong with opening yourself up to the possibility of loving another woman.”

“That’s just it, Doctor,” Patrick said, chuckling ruefully. “I don’t want to love another woman. I’m gay.”


	3. Chapter 3

_“That’s just it, Doctor. I don’t want to love another woman. I’m gay.”_

David gasped at the revelation. He hadn’t expected to become so riveted to this man’s confession, but he knew he couldn’t stop listening. Suddenly, he heard a car horn honking at him and he swerved back into his own lane. He pulled off to the side of the road, his heart in his throat, too caught up in the story to safely pay attention to the road he was driving on. David would never have before thought of himself as an overly sentimental man, but here he was, feeling like his heart was breaking in two.

“I’ve never said that out loud before.” Patrick’s voice was warm and earnest, even as it floated over radio waves, and David ached for him.

“Congratulations,” Dr. Schitt said. “That’s a big thing, Patrick, you should be proud.”

David agreed.

“I don’t know about that,” Patrick scoffed. “It’s a little late, isn’t it?”

“It’s never too late,” Dr. Schitt argued, kind but firm. “It’s _never_ too late to discover ourselves, to find our truths.”

“I guess.” Patrick didn’t sound convinced. “I just...I feel like I’ve wasted so much time. Mine and hers. She could have been with a man who loved her the way she deserved. And I...I don’t even know where to begin.”

“You’ve already begun. You know who you are. That’s the first step.”

“I guess,” Patrick said again.

“Are there any men in your life now, Patrick?” Dr. Schitt asked. “Anyone you’re attracted to?”

“Not since...not since Rachel died. I haven’t let myself.”

“And before that?”

Patrick didn’t answer for a long time, just cleared his throat uncomfortably. David was sure he was going to hang up.

“I saw him at a party. A friend of a friend’s birthday, I think.” David shivered at the change in Patrick’s voice. It had gone low and dreamy, honey sweet, and for some reason it sent a thrill down David’s spine. “He was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. Like, stopped me in my tracks beautiful. He was across the room from me, wearing a leather jacket and a white t-shirt. He looked right at me, and I just...I knew.”

“Knew what?”

“I knew...him. I wanted him. In a way I had never wanted Rachel, had never wanted anyone before. I couldn’t move, like his eyes were holding me in place. And I felt...different. Alive. Like the world was suddenly in technicolor where before I had only seen gray. I only saw him for a few minutes before the man he was with pulled him away, but those few minutes were like…”

“Magic,” David whispered. He remembered feeling the same way once. It was a similar story to Patrick’s, a pair of warm brown eyes that had hypnotized him at Alexis’ birthday party. Later that night he’d been devastated to find out his relationship with Sebastien was far from monogamous, and he’d forgotten all about those eyes. But now the memories came flooding back to him.

“Magic,” Patrick finally concluded, like he had heard David and agreed with his assessment.

“Did you talk to this man?”

“No.” David closed his eyes, those brown eyes from so long ago swirling through his mind, mingling with Patrick’s soft, soulful voice. “I never saw him again. Never even got his name. But I think about him. If I could sleep, I think I would dream about him. It’s silly, I know...I don’t know anything about him. But I remember thinking in that moment that I could have loved him.”

“You don’t sleep?”

“Not often. I know it’s been two years, but it’s still hard sleeping alone. For all that I didn’t love her the way she deserved, she was still my best friend. I miss my wife.”

Dr. Schitt hummed encouragingly. “Patrick, I think there’s someone out there for you. It may not be the man from the party, but there’s someone. And I think your wife would want you to be happy.”

“I hope so.” Patrick’s voice shook as he spoke, and David felt his heart clench in his chest. “I want there to be. I want a man to give my heart to, to wake up to every morning. A man to devote myself to. I just...I want to make someone happy.”

“You deserve someone to make you happy, too, Patrick.”

Again, Patrick took his time in answering, and David found himself holding his breath until he spoke again.

“Thank you,” Patrick finally said. “I think...I think I needed to hear that.”

“Thank you for taking the time to talk to us, Patrick,” Dr. Schitt said, wrapping up the segment. “I hope you have a merry Christmas, and remember - you deserve love. And you deserve happiness. Don’t forget it.”

“I won’t.”

“And thank you, listeners. I’m Dr. Jocelyn Schitt, and remember, just like our friend here, we are all deserving of love. Merry Christmas.”

As the radio program switched over to a commercial beak, David took in several deep, shuddering breaths. He didn’t know when he had started crying, but his cheeks were damp and his throat burned. He’d never had a stronger urge to hold someone, just wanted to reach through the radio and wrap his arms around this man.

 _This is crazy_ , he thought to himself, hiccuping through a sob, _I don’t even know this man_.

But he felt like he did, like he’d known Patrick for years. He was just a voice on the radio, a random stranger living in another country, but David felt like he knew him.

* * *

It was close to 11am when David pushed open the doors to his gallery. He’d promised Stevie he would be there by 10, but she knew him well enough to know not to take him at his word when it came to early mornings.

This morning, three days after Christmas, was proving to be a particular struggle. He and Jake had gone out for drinks with several of Jake’s friends - a crowd of roughs David never quite knew how to act around. David had planned to duck out early, but after news of the engagement broke, the night took a turn.

Stevie took one look at David as he trudged through her office door and rolled her eyes, removing her headphones as she watched David lurch across the room. David always thought he could handle his liquor, but he was a lightweight compared to Jake and his friends. She just couldn’t convince him of it.

“Stop being so loud,” David whined, throwing himself face first onto the plush sofa lining the back wall of Stevie’s office.

“I have literally not even said a word.”

David squirmed himself onto his back, looking like a landed fish searching desperately for the ocean. He groaned, the harsh glare of the overhead lights too bright even through his designer sunglasses.

“It’s your face,” he said, his arm flopping out in a pathetic attempt at a gesture. “Your face is loud. I can hear it judging me.”

“So how did last night go?” Stevie asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I am feeling very poorly this morning.” David coughed twice, two pitiful little coughs that fooled absolutely no one. “I think I have the flu. What are you working on?”

“Finalizing the catering menu for the New Year’s party.” She clicked a few buttons on her keyboard before swiveling her chair in David’s direction, giving him her full attention. “Now how did last night really go?”

“I think I drank beer out of a funnel. I’m sure I didn’t leave the bar with all of my clothes on. And I know I came at least three times last night.”

“Wow.”

“Now what are you really doing?”

“Watching Dr. Schitt’s Youtube channel.” She reached behind herself, disconnecting the bluetooth from her headphones and pushing play. “You can listen, too, I know you always like laughing at the weird advice she gives.”

David took a deep breath, trying to calm his swirling stomach. He knew those polar bear shots were a bad idea. It wasn’t until a warm, earnest voice started emanating from Stevie’s speakers that David’s mind caught up with what she said.

_“He was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.”_

“Some guy came out on her radio show on Christmas Eve. People are eating it up.”

 _“Like, stopped me in my tracks beautiful. He was across the room from me, wearing a leather jacket and a white t-shirt. He looked right at me, and I just...I knew._ ”

David lurched upright, swinging his legs off the couch at the sound of Patrick’s voice. Immediately, he realized what a bad idea that was. His vision swam and his stomach made a dangerous swoop. He let out a pained groan, letting his head fall between his knees, gesturing with one arm at the computer screen.

“What the hell, David?”

“That’s it,” he choked out through gritted teeth. “The thing from Christmas.”

Stevie gasped delightedly before turning towards the computer to rewind the interview. “This is what got you so worked up? Oh wow, it’s already got like a couple hundred thousand views.”

David swallowed several times, forcing his heaving stomach down, before saying with as much dignity as one could muster in his current state, “I was not _worked up_.”

“You called me on Christmas Eve from the side of the road, sobbing incoherently about magic and brown eyes and what it feels like to truly be known. What would you call that, then?”

Gingerly, David maneuvered himself back up before slumping back against the plush cushions. He passed a hand over his eyes, holding himself like a delicate maiden in a swoon. His skin was ashen. His hair, while perfectly styled, still managed to look limp and lackluster as if it couldn’t bother putting in the effort to hold itself upright any more than David himself could. Stevie could almost feel bad for the guy, but that wasn’t really in her nature.

“I would call it being moved by the plight of my fellow man,” David said, his haughty tone undercut but the soft moan that accompanied it. “That’s what an artist does. I was experiencing art.”

“Can we really call Dr. Schitt’s radio advice show _art_?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he’s the art. Him and his big brown eyes.”

Stevie’s eyes sharpened as she took in the pitiful picture David made. “ Brown eyes? It’s a radio show, David. How do you know what his eyes look like? Do you know this guy?”

“No.” David leaned slowly to the left until he finally slid all the way back down, snuggling his face into the pillow and muffling his voice. “I just...feel like I do. Like I know him.”

“Reeeaally,” Stevie said, delighted. “You’ve got a thing for the radio guy?”

“I do not have a _thing_ ,” he said, struggling to flip her off. “I just...connected with his story. That’s all.”

“Uh huh.”

“Ooh, Stevie, shhh!” David flapped his arm in her direction. “This is the best part!”

_“I never saw him again. Never even got his name. But I think about him. If I could sleep, I think I would dream about him. It’s silly, I know...I don’t know anything about him. But I remember thinking in that moment that I could have loved him.”_

David sighed, and Stevie’s face quickly morphed from teasing to concern. It was his heartbroken sigh. The one he made when he watched his favorite romantic comedies, when he talked about true love as something he would never experience. Stevie’s eyes widened at the sound of such longing.

“David,” Stevie said softly. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I don’t know. This just all seems like a pretty strong reaction to a random guy coming out on the radio.” She paused, debating with herself whether or not she should continue pushing. David could get obstinate when his choices were questioned and she didn’t want him to spite himself into a corner he couldn’t get out of. On the other hand, he often depended on her to be his voice of reason. “Did you ever have that conversation with Jake?”

“Yes, and we have decided to stay open minded regarding our marriage.” David didn’t open his eyes, but Stevie was sure he would be glaring at her in challenge if he did. “Jake and I are free spirits. We don’t want to feel shackled to the heteronormative confines of matrimony. Ours will be whatever we want to make of it.”

Stevie rolled her eyes. For all that David raged against conventionality, she knew deep down there were elements of it he craved. And one man or woman to love him wholeheartedly was a part of that. But she knew now wasn’t the time to fight him on it.

“So. Three times, huh?”

“Once when he fingered me in the bathroom of the bar, then twice while fucking me at home.”

“Bed?”

David wrapped his arms over his face, blanketing him in blissful darkness and hiding his blush from Stevie’s laughing eyes. “Kitchen floor.”

“Both times?”

“It was one _very_ long time.”

“Nice.”

* * *

Sometimes, David wondered if he was a sex addict.

It was New Years Eve, and downstairs in his gallery hundreds of artists and patrons were mingling at a party he had spent thousands of dollars on and countless hours planning. Everything was perfect - the entire first floor glittered with nothing but silver and onyx, the food was sumptuous and elegant. There was prestigious and progressive art on display, and music and entertainment in every room. He’d even planned for a laser fireworks display and rigged a crystal ball to drop from the ceiling of the ballroom at midnight. Leading up to the event, Stevie had informed him there was already a bidding war on three of the major pieces displayed, and one patron was even interested in purchasing the entire Yukimura collection.

He’d never worked harder on an event in his life. He’d never been _prouder_ of an event in his life.

But instead of enjoying it, instead of schmoozing with the patrons and the artists like he knew he should be, he was upstairs in a holding room with his pants around his ankles and his fiance’s tongue in his ass.

“Jake,” David panted out, his eyes watering as Jake’s tongue dipped inside of him. “Jake, we should... _oh god_...we should go back. It’s almost midnight.”

Jake stood up behind him, and David whimpered at the loss of his tongue. Jake chuckled knowingly behind him, reaching around to grasp David’s hard, leaking cock.

“You sure?” Jake asked, his voice low and teasing as he stroked David’s cock. His callused hands were firm around him, rough and strong and brutish, and David ached for more. “’Cause I was thinking, you’re so wet, I bet I could just slide right on home inside you. Bet you’d open right up for my cock.”

David's hands trembled where they were stretched out, gripping the wall in front of him. He couldn’t move, immobilized by Jake’s honeyed words as he slid his cock through the cleft of David’s ass.

“They say how you spend New Years is how you’ll end up spending the rest of the year,” Jake continued, pressing sloppy, inelegant kisses along David’s jaw. “So I wanna spend New Years with my cock buried inside you. It’s my favorite place to be.”

David moaned and arched his back further, unable to deny himself the pleasure of Jake’s cock. “Fuck me,” he whispered.

Jake wasted no time, burying himself inside of David and fucking him hard. Even though they were upstairs, away from his guests, David tried to muffle his cries, biting down hard on his knuckles to stifle the obscene noises tumbling from his lips.

Sex with Jake was incredible, it was always incredible. It was hard and fast and overwhelming. Jake fucked like a machine, sure and strong and relentless, leaving David breathless. He _took_ his pleasure, using David’s body so thoroughly he felt it in his toes and in his elbows, in his fingers and his spine. Every time with Jake took David to heights he’d never known existed, and left him completely spent and empty afterwards, every ounce of pleasure wrung out of him.

David felt more than heard the roar of the crowd as they counted down to midnight below him. He was going to miss it, the fireworks display and the ball dropping he had worked so hard on. He was going to miss it. But Jake was fucking him so good, hitting him right there in that spot that made David see stars, growling _I love yous_ into his ear, so David closed his eyes and told himself he didn’t mind. That anywhere with Jake was his favorite place to be, too.

David gasped as he felt Jake flood his insides, triggering his own orgasm, finishing hot and wet over Jake’s hand. Jake stroked him through it, making sure to wring every last drop from David, and continued stroking him long after he was finished. David shuddered in Jake’s arms, the stimulation to his sensitive cock and Jake’s teeth scraping along his throat making him weak in the knees.

Finally, Jake pulled out. David whined at the loss, then gasped as two of Jake’s fingers entered him, pushing his release back up inside David. David felt weak, trembling like a newborn lamb as he clung to the wall, sure the only thing keeping him standing was Jake’s strong arms.

“Fuck, that was good,” Jake said, kissing along David’s spine. “Your ass is a thing of wonder.”

David fumbled with his pants as he tried to right himself, attempting to make himself look at least halfway presentable again, but it was difficult while his hands still shook and his heart raced. He felt like he needed to sit down or splash some water on his face, anything to calm him down. He turned to see Jake buckling his own pants back up, all ease and unaffected coolness.

“So I was thinking,” Jake began, leaning casually against a stack of wooden crates, “I’m gonna be in Boston for that show next month, and then I was just gonna bum around until Janey’s wedding in Philadelphia on the 16th. But what if you met me in New York for a couple days around Valentine’s Day? You’re always talking about how much you miss the art scene there. You could show me around, get annoyed at my country boy ways.”

David pressed his lips together, trying to supress the smile that threatened to take over his face. His heart fluttered in his chest, filling him with warmth. Jake really could be sweet when he wanted to be.

“I’ll even let you pick where we go to dinner,” Jake said, his voice going low and husky as he pressed David into the wall before kissing him soundly. “No shame eating necessary.”

David rolled his eyes, his expression pink and pleased as he melted into Jake’s arms. “I think I can move my schedule around.”

“Good.” Jake kissed David again before pulling back and straightening his tie. “See you out there? I hate this kind of party, but your ass always makes it worthwhile.”

* * *

Patrick had lost count of how many beers he’d had to drink by the time the ball dropped. He was slumped against the back of the couch, a half empty can of Rainier clutched in his hand. His eyes were glazed over, bleary with fatigue and drink, staring unseeingly at the screen. Mariah had sacked out around 10pm, and after putting her to bed, Patrick had allowed himself this one night of indulgence. It was New Year’s after all.

It had been a difficult week for him. Dr. Schitt’s radio show broadcast across the US and Canada, and she filmed most episodes to post on Youtube as well. Overnight, Patrick had become something of a viral sensation. Which would have been fine had it not been for the fact that his mother, his father, his friends, hell even his daughter who had been sitting in his lap at the time, all heard him come out on the radio before he had come out to any of them

His family and friends had been supportive. Of course they had been, he knew they would be. His family and friends were good people. One lone aunt had posted vaguely on Facebook about praying for sinners to return to the light, but she was easy to ignore. No, his friends and family were fine, a little too much at times, but fine. It was the _strangers_ that made everything so weird and uncomfortable. The support was lovely, it was just _overwhelming_. So many offers of congratulations, so many people telling him they were proud of him. He didn’t know how to respond. Didn’t know how to feel.

Mariah had been the one he was most concerned about. He’d felt her stiffen in his arms when he’d first said the words, and he’d briefly wondered if she was too young to hear it as anything other than a slight on her mother. But he didn’t need to worry. When he’d finally hung up the phone that night, Mariah had clung to him, unwilling to let him go. She said she was sorry she’d called Dr. Schitt. Finding a wife, apparently, Dr. Schitt could have helped with. But Dr. Schitt’s husband had been on the show before and had left Mariah less than impressed. Patrick laughed at the derisive expression on her face until he’d cried and felt weightless in a way he’d never felt before.

Now, a week later, everything began to catch up with him. He’d opened a floodgate of feelings that night - of loss, of longing, of guilt - and he didn’t know how to turn it off. Everything he’d been bottling up for so long was out in the open, laid out bare for him to see. How was he supposed to deal with it all?

Patrick closed his eyes. His head felt funny - like it was full of cotton, like it couldn’t sit still. He felt the beer can in his hand, cool and wet with condensation, slide through his fingers until he was only holding onto it by the rim.

Suddenly, the beer can was gone. He furrowed his brow confusedly, eyes still closed. He didn’t hear it hit the ground. Didn’t feel his sock feet getting wet. He groaned softly, too drunk to really care about the mess.

“You’re drunk,” a laughing voice said.

Sluggishly, Patrick blinked open his eyes, lolling his head to the side. He shook his head slightly, trying to get himself to focus on the figure sitting at the end of the couch, red hair and a simple white dress the only features he could really take in. But he knew it was her.

“You’re dead,” he finally said.

Rachel raised an eyebrow at him, a smirk curling her lips. “Good thing, seeing as you buried me and all.”

Patrick struggled to sit up, watching her bring his can of Rainier up to her lips.

“You look a mess, baby,” Rachel said, reaching out a hand to run through Patrick’s tangled hair. “Your hair’s gotten long.”

“Rachel, I…”

She set the can down on the side table beside the couch, then turned to look back at Patrick. Her gaze was unwavering, like she could see inside of him. She sat silently, waiting for him to continue.

Patrick shivered under the intensity of her stare, suddenly feeling alert and sober despite the beer he’d been drinking all night. She was still in a way she’d never been in life, and he felt unnerved under such a concentrated force of her attention. He felt like his insides were exposed, like she could read his heart and his mind and his very soul.

“I miss you, Rachel,” Patrick finally whispered. “I miss you and I never got to tell you...there were important things I should have told you. Even though you were sick.”

Patrick closed his eyes and bowed his head, pain etched across his face. He couldn’t face her, this...ghost or hallucination or whatever it was.

A cold hand reached out, fingers gently tilting his chin up to look in her face again. She smiled, that simple sunny smile that Patrick remembered and missed so much. He felt tears gathering in his eyes as he looked at her.

“Tell me now.”

“Rachel...Rachel, I’m gay.” Patrick closed his eyes again, twin tears tumbling down his cheeks. “I’m gay, and I should have told you. I wanted to tell you.”

“Oh, is that all?”

Patrick laughed through his tears at the gentle teasing lilt of her voice. It has always been one of her greatest charms, her ability to make his biggest problems seem small. He could be carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, but she would make him feel lighter than air. He should have known it would be this easy.

“I wanted to tell you,” Patrick said again, his eyes begging her to understand. “I wanted you to know it was never your fault, our problems. It was never you who couldn’t make things work. But I didn’t want you to feel abandoned, not while you were sick. I was going to tell you when you got better, wanted us to figure out a new way of being a family. But…”

“But I didn’t get better.”

“No.”

They sat in silence. Patrick could feel his eyes drooping, his head filling back up with cotton. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth. He felt sluggish and stupid, the beer he had been drinking flowing through his veins making him warm and sleepy.

“You’re a good man, Patrick,” Rachel said softly. “It’s okay to let me go.”

Patrick jerked upright with a start, his eyes snapping back open. He shook his head, clearing the haze from his eyes again. “Rachel,” he said.

She was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was pointed out to me that I have not made it clear that Patrick is actually in Seattle. So...get excited for this chapter where I stuff in as many Seattle-isms as possible into Patrick’s scenes, giving you a detailed run down on Seattle weather, put Patrick on the correct bus rout to take him from Pike Place Market to Green Lake, and hopefully deliver a visceral description of the smell of Seattle’s delightfully disgusting Gum Wall. Enjoy :)

“Thanks!”

Patrick waved absent-mindedly as he stepped off the number 62 bus into the crisp January evening. It had rained most of the morning, but had tapered off by the late afternoon, though the air around him still felt heavy with moisture. Their first winter in Seattle, Patrick had realized he was unprepared for the rain. He had known of the stereotypes, but had assumed that meant frequent storms. He wasn’t prepared for just the endless feeling of wet, even as the sky was clear and the sun shining. Now, well into his second winter, Patrick was becoming well versed in Seattle weather - knowing when to appreciate a sun break, knowing the difference between a drizzle, a sprinkle, and a mist. He no longer rolled his eyes at weather reports of “rain followed by showers”, and the phrase “the mountain is out” was becoming a prominent part of his small talk vocabulary. He still carried an umbrella with him, but found himself less and less inclined to use it except in a real downpour. Turning his collar up against the cold, Patrick took a deep breath, letting the cool January evening fill his lungs as he tramped through the ever present puddles on his way home.

When Patrick turned into the driveway of his next door neighbor’s house, he frowned, his eyes catching sight of what looked like several boxes stacked up on his front porch. They were stacked up in front of the door, and it was hard to make out exactly what he was looking at. He didn’t remember ordering anything. He tore his eyes away from the sight, turning his attention instead to the door in front of him.

“Hey, Bug!” he cried as soon as the door was wrenched open, scooping his daughter up in a hug. “How was the first day back at school?”

“Good!” Mariah tugged on Patrick’s hand as she hopped down the porch steps. “Jessica and Max are still on vacation so it was just me and Jamal at lunch.”

“Hang on, Bug, you’ve got to say-”

“Bye Mrs. Currie!” Mariah yelled over Patrick’s shoulder at an older woman standing in the doorway with an amused look on her face, all while still tugging on Patrick’s arm. Patrick ginned ruefully, rolling his eyes at Mariah’s antics, but keeping his grip tight on her hand so she couldn’t run off until he was ready.

“Thanks, Gwen,” Patrick said. “I shouldn’t have any other late nights this week, so I’ll pick her up at the usual time.”

Patrick and Gwen waved their goodbyes as Mariah continued tugging on Patrick’s hand until he finally turned and let her lead him across the lawn to their own house. As they climbed the porch steps, he got a better look at what was awaiting them. About half a dozen white plastic tubs, each emblazoned with the United States Postal Service logo and filled to the brim with envelopes, were stacked haphazardly, one on top of the other.

“What in god’s name is this?” Patrick asked in bewilderment, dropping Mariah’s hand to thumb through the envelopes. They looked like they came from all over, every corner of the US and some international ones as well. Each one was addressed the same, to Sleepless in Seattle.

“Sleepless in Seattle?” Patrick asked. “What does that mean?”

He ripped one open, scanning the contents of the handwritten letter.

“Oh my god!” He looked down at Mariah who was eyeing him with a mixture of curiosity and dread. “Do you know what this is?”

“Um…” Mariah shrugged, twisting her arms behind her back and turning her face away from him, trying to look disinterested.

“How do they have our address, Bug?”

“The radio station called and asked for it?” Her voice went up at the end, turning the statement into more of a question. He knew she wasn’t unsure about her answer, just afraid of his reaction. “They’re all calling you that ’cause you said you can’t sleep anymore.”

Patrick sighed, dropping his head into his hand. Ever since that radio call, he’d been bombarded with responses. He’d had to lock down his Facebook, call his mother to ask her to stop responding to random social media posts, apologize to his workplace and speak to HR about the flood of emails and social media messages they had been receiving. And now there were letters.

“Are you mad at me?”

Mariah’s little voice brought him up short. Her eyes were big and sad, opened wide and filled with sorrow. Bambi eye, Rachel had always called them, just like his. She always laughed and told them they were dangerous, that no one could ever say no to the pair of them.

Patrick pulled Mariah to him in a rough hug, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. “Of course not,” he said. “How could I ever be mad at you for this?”

He grabbed his keys out of his back pocket, opening the door and ushering Mariah inside.

“But you’re going to be helping me carry these all inside.”

* * *

Patrick was just wiping down the kitchen counters and turning on the dishwasher when Mariah brought up the letters again. She had forgotten them during dinner, instead giving him a rundown of her day from the fractions she didn’t like learning about, to her plan to join the 4H club so she could play with Ms. Werner’s goats, all the way down to the drama of Missy not inviting Shannon to her birthday party.

“Dad, I think these men want to date you!”

Patrick wiped his hands on a damp kitchen towel and made his way into the living room, but stopped short to take in the scene that greeted him. Mariah was sitting on the carpet surrounded by piles of opened letters.

“Mariah, I don’t know if I want you -”

Mariah gasped loudly, effectively cutting Patrick off, and turned bright red, dropping the letter she had just finished opening like it had burned her. She clapped her hands to her face, covering her eyes, and began giggling uncontrollably.

Patrick furrowed his brow at her reaction and strode forward to snatch the letter of the ground.

“Mariah, what the - oh my!”

He had opened the trifolded letter to find a photo tucked inside. A _very_ muscular man smirked up from the photo, bare chest on display and his hand disappearing into a pair of skin tight boxer briefs, squeezing what Patrick could only assume was a coke can.

His face flaming, Patrick cleared his throat, trying to claw back some kind of control over the situation.

“Okay, Mariah, clearly you cannot open any more of these letters.” Mariah opened her mouth to argue, but one look from her father silenced her. “This photo was bad enough. I cannot allow you to see what _else_ someone might have sent. Now c’mon, it’s time for you to get your pajamas on.”

“Ugh, fiiine,” Mariah whined, standing up from the mess of letters.

“Do you have any homework you need to finish?”

“Nope.”

“Then go get your pajamas on. When you come back, we’ll have some ice cream.”

Mariah skipped off to her room, leaving Patrick alone with the mess of letters. When he was sure he heard her bedroom door slam, he opened the letter again, taking a second look at the man in the photo.

“Jesus,” Patrick muttered to himself, shaking his head at the mixture of fear and arousal that flooded through him. "That can't possibly be real"

He tucked the photo into his back pocket ( _just to make sure it stays out of Mariah’s hands_ , he told himself) and tossed the letter back down onto the stack. He would deal with the rest of them tomorrow.

Patrick was just pulling out the ice cream when Mariah skipped back into the kitchen, her school dress replaced with a pair of pink flannel pants and an old, ratty t-shirt of her mothers. Patrick smiled wistfully when he saw it, remembering the terrible band on the front Rachel had loved so much.

“Are you going to reply to any of the letters?” Mariah asked as she opened up the fridge to root around for the chocolate sauce and whipped cream.

Two cartons were placed on the kitchen table, along with bowls, spoons, and an ice cream scoop. Patrick opened the first, Full Tilt’s Huckleberry Chip, and gave himself a large scoop. Mariah eyed Patrick suspiciously as she climbed into her kitchen chair, watching him open the carton of Molly Moon’s Yeti ice cream and give himself a second, smaller scoop. But she nodded appreciatively at the sizable scoop he plopped into her bowl.

“That’s not how it works, Bug.”

Mariah took her time, expertly adding drizzles of chocolate sauce and swirls of whipped cream to the chocolate, caramel, and granola already mixed into the ice cream. When she was satisfied, she dug in, and with a mouth full of ice cream asked, “If all those guys wrote to you, then why isn’t it how it works?”

Patrick sighed, licking his own bite of ice cream off his spoon. “It’s just not. I don’t know those people. And they don’t know me. Dating’s more complicated than that. You don’t just hear a guy’s voice on the radio and decide you want to date him.”

 _Or see a man from across a crowded room and know you could love him_ , a little voice in Patrick’s head unhelpfully supplied.

“How do you know?” Mariah asked, kicking her heels against the legs of her chair. “You haven’t dated anyone in _forever_.”

Patrick opened his mouth to respond, but hesitated. He sucked on his spoon thoughtfully, the smooth tang of huckleberry lingering on his tongue. Mariah was right. He _hadn’t_ been on a date in...well, forever. He couldn’t very well wait for a game of spin the bottle to seal his fate, like it had with Rachel.

“My friend Lukas says you need to be on Grindr.”

Patrick almost choked on his ice cream. He coughed fitfully, his fist coming up to clutch at his chest, before wheezing out, “Where have you heard about Grindr?”

Mariah shrugged.

“Well,” Patrick sputtered, his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline, “I...appreciate Lukas’ suggestion, but I am not joining Grindr.”

Mariah shrugged again, raising her bowl to her lips to slurp up the melted remains of her sundae.

“Did you like the man in the picture?”

“What picture?”

Mariah leveled Patrick with a look that was somehow still able to cut to Patrick’s very core, despite the chocolate sauce smeared around Mariah’s mouth.

“Uh...the picture from the letter, Dad!”

Patrick could feel himself start to flush, the racy photo burning a hole in his back pocket. Making a monumental effort to not blush in front of his daughter, Patrick grabbed both now empty bowls and turned to stack them in the sink.

“I didn’t really get a good look, Bug.”

“He had a lot of muscles, Dad. Like, a _lot_. And a really big...you know.”

“Mariah!”

“I’m pretty sure that’s important in gay sex!”

Patrick whipped around, his mouth dropped open in amused shock. “Where are you learning about sex, gay or otherwise?”

Mariah shrugged, using the back of her hand to wipe at her chocolatey mouth. “Lukas doesn’t have parental locks on his internet. And he has an older brother.”

“Okay, that’s enough out of you,” Patrick scolded, but there was more laughter in his voice than heat. He wetted a paper towel, tossing it over to Mariah to clean her face with while he finished cleaning up from their dessert.

“I didn’t really like all his muscles,” Mariah said, scrubbing at her face until it was red and shining. “He kinda looked scary. I don’t think he looked like you could hug him.”

Patrick didn’t respond, just hummed noncommittally as he fit the lids back onto their respective ice cream cartons.

“If you get a boyfriend, you'll have sex with him, right?”

Patrick snorted as he placed the ice cream back in the freezer. “That is grown up stuff, and as you are not a grown up, you and I will not be talking about now.”

“ _Da-ad_ !” Mariah admonished him, crumpling the paper towel and tossing it onto the table in front of her. “I’m almost _ten_ . I’m going to get my _period_ soon, okay? That’s basically a grown up woman.”

Patrick laughed, reaching over to ruffle Mariah’s curls. “Stay my little girl just a little bit longer?”

Mariah huffed, rolling her eyes affectionately. “Fine.”

“Good.” Patrick dropped a kiss to the top of Mariah’s head. “Not get outta here. I’ll come tell you when it’s lights out.”

Patrick huffed out a laugh as he watched Mariah scamper out of the kitchen. That kid was going to be the death of him. She was into everything, inquisitive and opinionated, and it was all Patrick could do to keep up.

Reaching into his back pocket, Patrick pulled out the photo. He sighed as he looked at it, taking in the muscles, the briefs, the bulge.

 _Mariah’s right_ , Patrick laughed to himself. _Too many muscles, doesn’t look like he’d give good hugs._

He closed his eyes, leaning against the kitchen table, and let his mind wander back to the party from so many years ago. The man was wearing leather and his face was sharp and clean shaven. The thin white t-shirt he had worn showed off a lean body and his skin tight pants hugged shapely legs. But there was a softness to him, Patrick remembered. A hint of vulnerability. Something that made Patrick want to just hold him in his arms.

With a sigh, Patrick shook himself out of his reverie. Tearing the photo in two, Patrick tossed it into the garbage. Thinking about the mysterious man from the party was just as useless as reading through the stacks of letters sitting in his living room. Neither would bring him what he wanted.

* * *

David couldn’t sleep. He stared up at the ceiling of Jake’s bedroom, blinking into the darkness, wide awake. Beside him, Jake was sprawled out on the mattress, snoring lightly with one arm wrapped possessively around David’s waist.

Suddenly, David felt like he was suffocating. Like he couldn’t breathe. He felt a sweat break out across his entire body, his legs feeling like they were roasting, smothered by the blankets he was twisted up in.

He needed to get out of that bed.

Doing his best not to wake up Jake - who would just convince him all he needed was a good fuck to wear him out - David slipped out of the bed. Silently, he padded across the bedroom and out into the hallway, then tiptoed downstairs and made his way out to Jake’s workshop.

David sank into the overstuffed armchair Jake kept hidden in the corner of his shop. It had become David’s since they began dating, a comfy spot for him to perch and watch Jake work, admiring the dexterity of his hands and the broad rippling muscles of his back. They’d had sex in that chair more times than David could count, whenever Jake had had enough of David’s ogling. He preened after every time, pleased and proud that he could distract Jake from his work and convince him to so thoroughly satisfy him, all without saying a word.

He took a deep breath, the warm scent of wood seeping into his lungs. It was a smell he only associated with Jake, and now because of that, it was an arousing smell. David could already feel his body responding - becoming alert and sensitive, open and ready for the pleasure and satisfaction it was used to this smell bringing.

Maybe he had been too quick to judge what he assumed Jake would suggest. Maybe this imaginary Jake was right, maybe he was just horny and needed release. But David didn’t want to go back upstairs - didn’t want to leave the comfort of his chair, didn’t want to wake Jake up and bother him. He could take care of himself.

David closed his eyes, letting his legs fall open, his hands skimming up and down his thighs. He rubbed his cheek against his shoulder, then brought his hands up to run over his chest and wrap around his neck, luxuriating in the feeling of touch.

It wasn’t until he brought his hand down to cup his half hard cock that David realized he wasn’t thinking of Jake. It wasn’t Jake’s hands running over his body or Jake’s face he was seeing in his mind. And normally, that would be fine, but tonight all David could see was a pair of warm brown eyes staring into his soul.

Groaning, David fumbled for the phone he had set beside him. It was too late at night for him to feel shame as he opened up the YouTube app and pulled up the video of Dr. Schitt’s Christmas Eve radio show.

_“That’s just it, Doctor. I don’t want to love another woman. I’m gay.”_

The phone clattered onto the table next to him as he dropped it to squeeze his cock, the voice that had been haunting him for the last week - that had seeped under his skin and filled his dreams - enveloping him in warmth and sending a spark of arousal straight down to his cock. There was something about it that spoke to David, that called to him. Something that made him feel alive and seen, that made him sure that Patrick was speaking directly to him. He felt naked, listening to that voice, like the voice itself had entered him, burying itself deep inside of him.

_“I saw him at a party. A friend of a friend’s birthday, I think.”_

David whimpered as he stroked himself, letting that voice wash over him. He twisted his wrist, pulsing his hand around himself, imagining he could hear that voice saying his name, calling him baby, telling him how good he wanted him to feel. Heat pooled in his gut and his belly flipped as his pleasure spread out to his limbs.

_“He was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. Like, stopped me in my tracks beautiful. He was across the room from me, wearing a leather jacket and a white t-shirt. He looked right at me, and I just...I knew.”_

“Patrick,” David sighed, the name tasting like honey on his tongue. His thighs trembled and his hips rolled, chasing that delicious ache of pleasure. He was close. It had only been _minutes_ that his hand had been on himself, but Patrick’s voice already had his hips stuttering as they fucked up into his fist.

David brought his free hand up to his face, stifling his moans by stuffing two fingers into his mouth. He rolled the fingers with his tongue, sucking on them the way he wished he was sucking Patrick’s cock. He wondered what it would look like, imagining it to be long and thick, so hard and flushed pink. It would be heavy on his tongue, with skin soft as velvet. David’s mouth watered at the thought, want lighting up his spine.

_“I never saw him again. Never even got his name. But I think about him. If I could sleep, I think I would dream about him. It’s silly, I know...I don’t know anything about him. But I remember thinking in that moment that I could have loved him.”_

David threw his head back, fingers wet from his mouth threading into his hair, pulling tight as he felt his climax rushing towards him.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck!”

_“I want a man to give my heart to, to wake up to every morning. A man to devote myself to. I just...I want to make someone happy.”_

With a strangled cry, David came, spilling hot and wet across his fingers. He kept touching himself, slowing his strokes as he took great, shuddering breaths, filling his lungs with oxygen and calming his thundering heart.

David stilled, fumbling with his phone to pause the video, trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened. He was becoming obsessed. He couldn’t stop listening to the video, couldn’t stop picturing that man from Alexis’ party all those years ago.

He shook his head, trying to clear his mind of the conflicting emotions swirling inside of him. He was getting married. He had a man who loved him. It was everything he had always wanted. So why was he so obsessed with this stranger? _Two_ strangers. Two strange men he had somehow warped into one demon he couldn’t get to leave him alone.

David took a deep breath, holding it in his lungs before huffing it out in a loud exhale. He needed to get a grip.

As he sat in his chair, the smell of Jake surrounding him, he felt his eyes droop and sleep come to him. He knew he should get up, should go back to the bed he shared with his fiance. David curled his legs up underneath himself, pulling his sweater closer around his body, and snuggled into the arm of the chair.

Before closing his eyes, David reached for his phone and restarted the video.

* * *

Patrick loved the early mornings at Pike Place Market, when the sun was still waking up, the sky a muted blush of blues and pinks and purples. The cobbled streets were empty of tourists, vendors still making their way into the market, rolling up their caravans and setting out their wares, hauling huge carts of ice and produce and brilliant flowers.

Patrick looked up in awe at the huge neon sign, still enamored of the romance of the market more than a year after he began working there. Turning away from the main market entrance, Patrick strolled down Post Alley towards the little Ghost Alley Espresso he’d claimed as his morning coffee shop, leaving the original Starbucks to the tourists.

The smell of bubblegum wafted over him, as it did every morning, following him into the tiny coffee shop tucked into it’s hidden alcove. The first time he’d made his way passed the infamous Market Theater Gum Wall, Patrick had been appalled. The sight of a 50 foot long wall, completely covered in chewed bubblegum had stopped him in his tracks, disgust roiling in his belly. It stretched well above his head, every color and flavor of gum imaginable. Mostly, there were individual pieces spattered across the wall like an germ-infested Jackson Pollack, but in some spots the gum spelled out words or made little pictures. It had grown on Patrick during his time here, and now he delighted in the absurdity of it, appreciating the rainbow of colors and the soft, pink smell of bubblegum that greeted him every morning.

With his smog tea in hand, Patrick made his way back into the market proper, waving hello to the boys at Don and Joe’s Meats and the fishmongers in their signature orange coveralls. Even now, before the market was officially opened, a small crowd was gathering, ready to see flying fish. Swiping his fob over the keypad, Patrick stepped into the private elevator that took him up to the seventh floor of Pike Place Market and the offices of the Market Foundation.

“Patrick!”

Patrick started at the exuberant voice calling out to him, not expecting to see his boss this early in the morning.

“Ray!” Patrick greeted, less enthused, but still friendly. “I wasn’t expecting you today. Didn’t you just get back from your vacation last night?”

Ray practically bounced down the hallway, his energy creating a buoyancy pushing him onward while Patrick followed at a more sedate pace.

“There’s a Five Families meeting this morning, so I needed some time to collect all my project notes. There’s nothing like a good calendaring meeting!”

Ray was the director of the Market Foundation, the largest of the five non-profit organizations housed within the market, known as the Five Families. He, along with the directors of the preschool, the senior center, the food bank, and the neighborhood clinic, met once a month to discuss market issues, collaborate on fundraising and philanthropic projects, and other logistics. The January meeting, where they mapped out all the planned events for the calendar year, was Ray’s favorite.

“Sounds fun,” Patrick said, slowing as he followed Ray into his own office and watched him plop down in the extra chair in front of Patrick’s desk. “Well, I know it’s still early in the month, but we’re already starting on closing December. And I’ve got tax letter wording for your final approval later.”

“Very good, very good.” Ray waved his hand, dismissing Patrick’s update. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

Patrick sat down at his desk, taking a sip of his tea and eyeing Ray suspiciously. Ray had a tendency to chat, and while Patrick usually found this tendency endearing, his recent brush with viral fame left him wary.

“Patrick,” Ray finally said, clasping his hands together in front of him. “I heard about your radio interview.”

Patrick winced. Of course he had.

“I was very moved,” Ray continued. “Both by your story about your late wife and your longing for a man to love.”

“Thank you?”

“Yes, very moved.” Ray nodded to himself, his eyes drifting around Patrick’s sparse office. He lapsed into silence for several minutes, and instead of encouraging anything, Patrick chose to just wait him out.

“Do you remember Ken?” Ray said suddenly.

“Uhh…” Patrick knew he recognized the name, and couldn’t quite place it.

“Catering manager,” Ray supplied. “He helped organize last year’s Sunset Supper and the preschool’s annual breakfast.”

“Oh, that’s right.”

“I only ask because…” Ray trailed off, something that was unlike him enough that Patrick felt compelled to prompt him.

“Because..?”

“Well, I only ask because I know he is recently single. Broke things off with his boyfriend sometime in November. And...he asked about you when we ran into each other this morning.”

“Ray!”

“I know!" Ray held up his hands, acknowledging the line he was crossing. “Not my place. But just...he’s a good looking man. And so nice. I think you’d like him, and I just happen to have his card with me. It might do you some good to put yourself out there.”

Patrick laughed, dropping his head to his hands in disbelief. Of all the things he expected from this morning, his boss trying to get him a date was not one of them.

But maybe Ray was right. Maybe he should take a chance. He did remember Ken being very cute, filling out his polo shirts very well. He’d made him laugh a few times during the event, once even enough to spill water on his suit pants. Not to mention, Ken was real. He wasn't a wistful memory or a beefcake thirst trap. He was a real person Patrick could have a conversation with, get to know. Date. Wasn't that what he should be doing?

“Well,” Ray said, getting to his feet. “I should get ready for this meeting. You just let me know.”

Ray was almost gone when Patrick lifted his head.

“Ray!”

Ray turned, pausing in the doorway to look back.

“Leave me the number.”

* * *

As soon as the elevator doors dinged closed, David sank against the wall. His eyes closed, already hidden from the opulent gold fixtures by his favorite white sunglasses. He’d slept poorly, waking up around 6am with a horrible crick in his neck. Grown men should not attempt to sleep curled up in chairs. He’d managed to fall into bed and doze fitfully for another couple of hours, before finally forcing himself up.

He raised his coffee to his lips, slurping the beverage through the to-go lid, wincing as it scalded his tongue.

When the elevator doors dinged open again, he pushed himself off the wall and made his way down the hallway, offering a grimacing smile to anyone who nodded a good morning to him, until he came to an office he usually only visited under duress.

Pushing the door open, David braced himself.

“Oh my god, David!” Alexis squealed, looking up where she was inexpertly pecking away at her computer’s keyboard. “Have you come to visit me?”

“I needed to talk to you.” David could already feel himself regretting this decision as Alexis sprang up from her chair and bustled around the desk towards him. He thrust the smoothie he was holding into her hands, hoping that would stop her from trying to hug him or boop his nose or any other kind of horrifyingly intimate touch she could come up with.

“David! Ohh, this is so sweet of you!”

“Just…” David held his hand up, attempting to silence her. Nodding to two armchairs, angled towards one other in front of a large open window, he asked, “Can we sit?”

Alexis flounced over to one of the chairs, wiggling excitedly as she sat, daintily wrapping her lips around the straw of her smoothie and taking a sip. David sank into the opposite chair, draping himself across it, dramatic in his distress.

“Why did you marry Ted?”

“Excuse me?”

“Ted. Your husband. Why did you marry him?”

Alexis made a face, her mouth twisted in confusion. “Uh...because I love him?”

David sat up, pulling his sunglasses off his face to look more closely at Alexis. “But you broke up with him twice. He wouldn’t even propose to you the last time, you had to do it.”

“Okay, first of all, David, I didn’t _have_ to propose to him, I _wanted_ to.”

David rolled his eyes. He hadn’t come here to argue semantics.

“And _second_ of all…” Alexis trailed off, her voice losing its edge of defensiveness. She set her cup down on the arm of the chair, looking down as she twisted her fingers together in her lap and picked at invisible lint on her skirt. Softer, she continued. “I just wasn’t ready the first time. The first... _two_ times.”

David deflated slightly and cleared his voice. “Um...and how did you...how did you _know_? How did you know you were ready?”

Alexis looked up, her brow furrowed. David bit his tongue from warning her about wrinkles, knowing that however well-intentioned, the comment would stop Alexis from talking. And David really needed to hear her answer.

“I don’t...I don’t think I _did_ know.” Absent-mindedly, Alexis reached up for a lock of hair, twirling it between her fingers. “I just knew I loved him. And not just because of how well he loved _me_ .” She smiled, teeth and laugh lines taking over her face. “Like, I _want_ to listen to him talk about his little turtles. He comes home at the end of the day, and I can’t wait until he tells me all the stories of the aquarium and about all the little fishes and penguins that he’s nursed back to health. He just gets so _cute_ , all puffed up and proud of them for being able to, like, swim with all their little fish friends again.”

David felt his breath catch in his throat as he watched Alexis, the way she lit up as she talked about loving her husband. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her looking so happy, so steady.

“And, like,”-Alexis flapped her hands, gesturing to the office they were sitting it-“yeah, we had to take some time apart because he needed to go on his island adventure and I needed to become the amazing girl boss that I knew I could be, but we found each other again. And I decided to ask him to marry me when I realized I wanted to make him happy more than I wanted to make myself happy.”

David’s heart clenched in his chest. That was the second time someone had said that to him. First his dad, and now Alexis.

Did he want to make Jake happy? He certainly didn’t want to make Jake _unhappy_. He hated seeing Jake hurt. Hated how tight his face got. How quiet and reserved and withdrawn. But was that the same as wanting to make him happy?

“Were you scared?”

“No,” Alexis answered immediately. “I was excited.”

“Did you ever think about anyone else?”

“Nope.”

“Not even Mutt?”

Alexis rolled her eyes. “Ew, Mutt?” She turned to gaze out the window, taking a long sip of her smoothie, before turning back to David. “I think I needed to date Mutt when I did. After Ted and I broke up the first time. Just to know that it wasn’t right, even though we were clearly very attracted to each other.”

David scoffed. “I believe it was _while_ you were still dating Ted, but please continue.”

“Well, we never said we were exclusive,” Alexis fired back, flicking her hair behind her shoulder.

“Mmkay, he asked you to marry him. I’m pretty sure he assumed you were exclusive.”

“Jake asked you to marry him and you two aren’t exclusive.”

David didn’t have an answer to that, not right away. He lifted his chin defiantly and in an icy tone responded, “That’s different. Jake and I talked about it and that’s the way we want our relationship to be.”

Alexis didn’t respond, just pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows, letting David know how hollow his words rang with just one look.

They sat in silence for several minutes, Alexis tugging on one of her oversized hoop earrings and sipping her smoothie while David slumped down in his chair. Finally, David broke the silence.

“Have you ever been to Seattle?”

“Ew, no, David.” Alexis grimaced and shook her head, using her straw to break up the ice in her smoothie. “Your hair would not do well in all that rain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used to work for one of the non-profits in Pike Place Market and yes, we do refer to ourselves as the five families, and yes, we do all realize that makes us sound like we're in the mob.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I have not abandoned this fic!
> 
> Warning for a fully consensual, but unhealthy and unhappy sexual encounter at the end of this chapter.

David took a deep breath, letting the warm, acrid taste of smoke fill his lungs. Passing the joint back to Stevie, he puckered his lips into a perfect ‘o’ and exhaled, the smoke streaming out of his mouth before curling around his chin and his shoulders and into his hair. His body felt warm and heavy, his mind filled with a sleepy happiness he wished he could feel more often instead of the crushing anxiety he usually felt.

They were lounging in the living room of David’s apartment - David sitting on the floor, slumped back against the sofa while Stevie sprawled out across it’s cushion, her feet dangling over one couch arm and one hand tangled in David’s hair. David was practically purring as her fingers scratched at his scalp and tugged gently on his hair, scitters of pleasure running down his spine. He leaned further back, turning his head this way and that, pushing into her hand whenever he felt her still.

Despite appearances, considering how carefully and artfully it was usually styled, David _loved_ having people touch his hair. Not strangers of course, but people he loved and trusted. There was such a casual intimacy to it that brought David a full body pleasure. Alexis used to spend hours when they were kids brushing his hair and pinning it up in barrettes while David sat, still and quiet and perfectly content. When Stevie became a de facto member of the Rose family, she discovered pretty quickly how much more agreeable David could be once she got her hands in his hair. David had tried getting Jake to do it, sure such strong fingers would turn him to absolute jelly in minutes, but other than an occasional tug during sex, Jake could never quite understand what David was looking for.

David lifted his arm over his head, fingers parted, ready for Stevie to pass him back the joint. It was just a nub at this point, almost out. He took one last drag before handing it back to Stevie to finish and put out.

“You should write him a letter.”

David blinked slowly, the fog swirling in his brain making it hard for him to focus on Stevie’s words.

“Who?” he finally asked.

“Seattle.” She coughed out the word, then twisted onto her belly to reach for the ash tray on the side table, her fingers never leaving David’s hair.

David could feel a giggle bubbling up from his belly. “That’s not his name.”

Flopping back down onto her back, Stevie tightened her grip on David’s hair eliciting a sharp gasp. He lost himself in the sensation and almost missed Stevie’s next remark.

“Pa-trick,” she said, enunciating each sound like she was trying out the shape of each letter in her mouth. “You want him.”

David scoffed, ignoring the warm feeling that filled his belly whenever he thought of Patrick. “Don’t be ridiculous. I am an almost married man.”

“An almost married man who jerks off listening to someone who is _not his fiance_ talk on the radio.”

David gasped, whirling around to gape at her open-mouthed. Was someone watching him? Who could have told her? “Oh my god, Stevie, how did you know that?”

“Uh...you just told me.”

“Oh.” David leaned back against the couch, giggling softly and nuzzling against her drooping hand in order to restart the petting, paranoia forgotten. “I forgot.”

“Pa-trick,” she said again, her voice soft and dreamy. With her unoccupied hand, she pulled her phone out of her pocket, fiddling with it while still absentmindedly carding her fingers through David’s hair. “What would you say? In your letter? To Pa-trick.”

“I would say...I would say...hello.”

“Hello? That’s it? You don’t want to tell him you want to raw him in the back seat of your car?”

“Oh my god, Stevie! No!”

“But you do.”

“I mean, yeah, but that’s not...it’s more...I feel like I... _know_ him. Like we’re the same.”

“David, you’ve been out since you were eleven. How are you the same?”

“I don’t mean that part. I mean...just on the inside.”

“We’re all the same on the inside. Just guts in a skin suit.”

“Ew, Stevie!” David lapsed into silence, sinking back into the feeling of Stevie’s fingers in his hair, letting his mind empty and just experience the tingly, goosebump sensation. After a few seconds, he said, “I just want him to know that I see him. That I...that I want...he should be happy. He should have someone to love him and kiss him and, and...give him blow jobs and pet his hair.”

Stevie giggled. “That’s what _you_ want.”

“Then he could give me blow jobs and pet _my_ hair.”

“He’s never done it before. He doesn’t know how.”

“I’ll teach him.”

“What if he’s not good at it?”

“He’s good at everything. I can tell. He’s good and he’s nice and his daughter’s name is Mariah, so clearly he has good taste if he named his daughter the same as the illustrious Mariah Carey.”

“Clearly.” Stevie tugged on David’s hair, eliciting a happy purr from deep within his chest. She loved that sound. “You should meet him.”

“How?”

“In your letter, you should tell him to meet you.” She flopped her free hand towards the tv, gesturing to the movie they had long since stopped paying attention to. “On top of the Empire State Building. Like in the movie. It’ll be romantic.”

“What movie?”

“The one we’re watching!”

David giggled. “I forgot what it was.”

“You should tell him to meet you at the Empire State Building on Valentine’s Day.”

David shrugged, considering. “I’ll already be there with Jake. I’ll have time to squeeze it in.”

“Perfect. And then you can fall in love and get married and have lots of sex and babies. Just like in a movie. So you can have movie love.”

“Movie love isn’t real, Stevie.”

Stevie frowned. She didn’t like the sad, morose tone that came out of David’s mouth. She’d heard it all too often while he dealt with one heart break after another.

“It could be,” she argued. “You could have movie love. All you have to do is find your little radio man and tell him you love him.”

“I don’t _know_ him, Stevie," David scoffed. "How could I love him?"

“You just said you felt like you did.”

“That’s not the same thing and you know it!”

“Fine.” Stevie pulled her hand from David’s hair, but relented quickly at the lost little whimper he let out. “What would you tell him instead? If he meets you at the Empire State Building on Valentine’s Day and you decide you _don’t_ want to tell him you love him, what would you say instead. After hello, of course.”

“I would tell him...I would tell him it’s okay to be sad. And it’s okay to be scared. But to keep trying. He deserves all the love and happiness he wants, but he has to keep trying. Don’t settle.”

Through the haze in her mind, Stevie could feel her heart shattering inside her chest, wishing she could get David to hear those exact same words.

 _Keep trying_ , she would shout if she thought David would hear her. _You don’t need to settle._

* * *

“Daddy!”

Patrick started in his bed, pulled from a fitful sleep. He felt groggy and disoriented, like his head was filled with wet sand, and he wasn’t sure what had startled him so badly. But then he heard it again.

“Daddy, no! Please!”

Mariah. Something was wrong with Mariah.

Surging up out of bed, Patrick wrestled with the sheets tangled around his ankles and tripped out of the room, groping blindly through the darkened hallway until he reached his daughter’s room. He crossed the bedroom in three great strides before seating himself on the bed beside her and scooping a trembling and screaming Mariah into his arms.

“Shh, shh, you’re okay,” he soothed her, rocking her gently and trying to calm his own thundering heart. Pressing his lips to her forehead, dampened with sweat, he kissed calming words to her skin as her screams tapered off into pained whimpers.

“You were...you were sinking,” Mariah’s little voice, shuddery and raw, whispered into Patrick’s neck. “There was water everywhere and you were sinking. And you just...you just let it. You didn’t even try to stop it.”

Patrick’s heart seized in his chest and he hugged Mariah even tighter, clenching his eyes shut against the wave of sadness that crashed over him. He needed to do better for Mariah.

“I’m here,” he said, the words dry and ashen in his throat, choking him. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not letting anything take me away from you.”

Mariah twisted in his grip to look up at him, her eyes bright and wet with tears. “Promise?”

“I promise, bug.”

Mariah nodded as twin tears fell, tumbling slowly down her cheeks. “I’m starting to forget her.”

“Oh, baby, no.” Patrick settled himself more fully on the bed, pulling Mariah into his lap. “No, you’ll never forget her. I won’t let it happen.” Tangling his fingers in Mariah’s hair as she settled against his chest, Patrick let his mind drift back to the best days of his marriage. “She could make anything beautiful. She was bright and energetic and opinionated, always coming up with some new adventure for us all to go on. She loved music, loved dancing and singing. Even though she wasn’t really good at either of those things, she never let that stop her. And she...she loved you, bug, more than anything in the world.”

Patrick could feel Mariah growing heavy with sleep in his arms. Gently, he slipped her back under the covers, brushing her bangs from her face and kissing her softly.

“What was the song she always sang to you?”

Mariah blinked slowly, exhaustion evident on her face, and whispered “Hero.”

“Hero, that’s right.”

As Mariah snuggled back down in her pillow, Patrick ran his fingers through her hair and began to sing.

 _“And then a hero comes along, with the strength to carry on._ _  
__And you cast your fears aside, and you know you can survive._ _  
__And when you feel like hope is gone, look inside you and be strong._ _  
__And you’ll finally see the truth, that a hero lies in you.”_

* * *

David was not proud of himself. He wasn’t. He was not proud of himself, but that had not stopped him from wheedling his sister until she somehow got him a last name. That’s all he had wanted, a last name. He didn’t ask her how she got it - didn’t want to know what kind of horrifying adventure had led to whatever skills she needed to possess in order to get it - just took it and thanked her and went on his way.

Patrick Brewer.

It was a good name. Solid. Simple. Masculine. It kind of reminded him of Jake even. David pushed that thought away quickly, squashing it down along with the guilt he felt creeping across his skin. He knew, deep in his heart that he was getting a little out of control, that this obsession with a man he didn’t know was teetering towards _very_ unhealthy behavior.

He just couldn’t help himself.

Which is why he found himself locked in his office on a Wednesday morning for a good old fashioned round of social media stalking.

Unfortunately, Patrick Brewer who lived in Seattle had some...questionable social media habits. On the one hand, there wasn’t much of a presence. His Facebook was locked down and he had no Twitter to speak of. David point blank refused to attempt to find him on LinkedIn, even as a last resort, so he was left to peruse a sad set of Pinterest boards showing basic hairstyles appropriate for nine year old girls and what David was sure was the same blue button up shirt pinned over and over again.

What was truly alarming was the Instagram account he found. Unlike Facebook, this account was public, and David found his horror growing the further back he scrolled. He was over a year deep and had yet to find a picture of Patrick’s face, just photo after photo of dirty hiking boots. Apparently Patrick was part mountain man and had gotten it into his head that it was “artistic” or something to take a photo of his filthy boots at the end of every trail he hiked.

But even as his horror grew, David could feel this man endearing himself even further in David’s heart. He had eight followers: two he assumed were his parents - a kindly looking man who posted mostly pictures of dark, manly cocktails in heavy bottomed glasses and DIY woodworking projects and an equally kindly looking woman who had amassed an impressive following in the paper craft and hand lettering world, a very enthusiastic man name Ray, his daughter Mariah who posted encouraging and complimentary comments on every post, and four porn bots. He was hopeless and David couldn’t help but find it absolutely adorable.

With so few legitimate followers, David wasn’t expecting much when he clicked over to look through the photos Patrick was tagged in. But the very first photo brought David up short. He gasped, mouth hanging open in shock. He almost dropped his phone, trembling fingers fumbling it as he stared.

The photo was of a grinning little girl, around eight years old and surrounded by balloons, her thin, gangly arms thrown around the neck of a man David would have known anywhere.

Suddenly David felt hot. He felt like the air in his office was closing in on him, his breath coming in harsh pants, his heart hammering in his chest.

_It can’t be him._

But it was. Those same warm brown eyes that had mesmerized him back at Alexis’s party all those years ago were staring up at him from his phone.

He couldn’t believe it. For all that he had combined the two in his mind, he had never actually contemplated the idea that the man from the radio could possibly be the same man from the party. It was too wild a coincidence.

With two fingers, David touched the screen of his phone, enlarging the photo until just Patrick’s face filled the screen. A warmth blossomed in his chest as he took in his features - the wide grin, the laugh lines around his eyes, the peach fuzz on his chin. It was a happy picture, clearly a birthday celebration for his daughter, but David could see a sadness in him. The date of the picture was from over a year ago, so not even a year after his wife’s passing.

Without thinking, David stroked his finger over the line of Patrick’s jaw. Instantly, the photo jumped back to it’s normal size, and to David’s horror, a little red heart lit up underneath the photo.

“Oh, fuck!”

David stood, tripping over his chair legs as he frantically clicked on the heart again, removing all evidence of his Insta-stalking, before throwing the phone across the room in a panic.

“Oh my god.” He paced in front of his desk, both arms flailing in circles by his sides as if that could erase the offending action.

Clutching one hand to the front of his sweater, David forced himself to stand still, taking a deep breath to calm his frenzied heart beat.

“Okay,” he said, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back. “And this is why social media is the devil.”

Stalking across his office, David snatched his phone from off the floor, grimacing at the new crack he saw in the corner, and made his way out the door.

He needed to find Stevie.

* * *

In the weeks following what Patrick had begun referring to as the Radio Incident in his head, it had become necessary to set up a new email address for himself after Mariah had so helpfully supplied the radio station with his original, and he had been inundated with almost twice the amount of emails as he had physical letters. He hadn’t wanted to close down the address on the off chance important things still found their way there, but he usually only did a cursory glance through anymore before deleting everything unopened.

This day was no different. He was nervous and jumpy, waiting for Mrs. Currie to show up to spend the evening with Mariah as Patrick went on his first date with Ken, and was using the contents of his inbox as a half-hearted distraction.

He had just highlighted all unopened mail and was about to hit delete when one in particular caught his eye. An [ sbudd@rosesalonandsolarium.ca ](mailto:sbudd@rosesalonansolarium.ca) had sent an email with the subject line _For Patrick and Mariah_.

Patrick remembered the Rose Salon and Solarium from when he lived in Toronto, the swanky art gallery he had always been intimidated by. Everything seemed so intellectual and refined and everything Patrick wasn’t. Hell, he originally mistook the place for an overly fancy hair salon when he first saw it and only after she had turned red with laughter, tears streaming down her face, had Rachel corrected him. He couldn’t imagine anyone from so upscale and sophisticated a place could be contacting him based on his radio interview, but there was no other reason he could come up with either.

The email was blank inside, nothing except for an attachment. It was an audio file, the name nothing but a jumble of random letters and numbers. He almost closed it, sure it was nothing but spam or a virus, but...the subject of the email had his name in it. Had _Mariah’s_ name in it. Before he could talk himself out of it, he clicked on the attachment and opened the file.

_“What would you say? In your letter? To Pa-trick.”_

_“I would say...I would say...hello.”_

Two soft, dreamy voices drifted through the laptop speakers, and Patrick was sure right away that they were stoned. He shouldn’t have found it endearing. He should have rolled his eyes and closed the file, but something about those voices just made him smile.

_“Hello? That’s it? You don’t want to tell him you want to raw him in the back seat of your car?”_

Patrick almost choked on his next breath, not expecting the conversation to turn so graphic so suddenly.

_“Oh my god, Stevie! No!”_

_“But you do.”_

_“I mean, yeah, but that’s not...it’s more...I feel like I...get him. Like we’re the same.”_

Patrick felt something unfurl inside him, something he’d never felt before. He’d been holding onto himself so tightly - ever since he had discovered who he was, all through Rachel’s illness, and then these last few years after her death. He hadn’t realized how much he wanted to hear that someone, _anyone_ , understood him.

Even it was just some stoned guy who wanted to raw him in the back seat of his car.

Patrick felt his lips twitch and his body relax as Stevie and David’s voices drifted through his speakers, making him laugh. He felt lighter than he had in a long time, just knowing there was someone out there who made him feel seen.

_“He should have someone to love him and kiss him and, and...give him blow jobs and pet his hair.”_

“What are blow jobs?”

Patrick jumped with a shout at the little voice that piped up unexpectedly behind him. He hadn’t been paying attention and hadn’t noticed Mariah’s soft footsteps as she tred barefoot across the carpet.

“Jesus, Bug!” Patrick slammed the laptop shut, effectively ending the audio file, and turned to face his daughter. “You scared me!”

Mariah giggled at her father’s fright and climbed into his lap. “Sorry, daddy. Who was talking?”

“No one, baby.” Patrick smoothed a hand over her unruly curls, attempting to tidy them back into some semblance of order. “Just something in an email.”

“Was it about the radio?”

“It was. Someone sent us an audio file of them talking about the radio show.”

“Okay, so what’s a blow job? They said you deserve them.”

“Okay!” Patrick lifted Mariah up off his lap and stood, trying to steer out of the room and away from that topic of conversation. “I think it’s time for you to set the table. Mrs. Currie will be here in just a few minutes and she’ll need your help getting dinner together.”

Unperturbed, Mariah let herself be led towards the kitchen, saying, “I’ll just ask Mrs. Currie if you don’t answer.”

Patrick sighed, rolling his eyes and sending up a silent curse to Rachel for leaving him to deal with their precocious and mischievous little trouble maker all on his own.

Not that he would change her for the world.

“It’s a sex thing,” he said just as a knock sounded on the door, “and that will be the end of that conversation.”

Mariah scrunched up her nose in disgust before scampering off into the kitchen leaving her dad to answer the door and let Mrs. Currie in.

She’d ask Lukas to look it up for her later.

* * *

In the week that followed, Patrick began to regret not deleting the email. Mariah had gotten into his laptop while he was out with Ken and had listened to the whole file, and had become veritably _obsessed_ with this David person. Everything, from his voice to his laughter to his surety that Patrick was good at everything to his love of Mariah Carey, _everything_ was a positive to Mariah. The fact that he clearly lived in Toronto - not just across the country, but across the border as well - couldn’t deter her interest. It was their own hometown and seemed to just spur on her obsession.

Patrick couldn’t really understand it. Sure, he himself had felt a momentary endearment towards the man in question, but that was it. There wasn’t really enough there to get attached to. Even though Patrick had saved the audio file and listened to it a time or two more late at night, he felt it was absurd for his daughter to have formed such a connection.

More than anything, Patrick was frustrated that the mysterious hold this David had on his daughter seemed to completely turn her off the idea of Patrick dating Ken. She had been so excited when he had first broached the subject of asking the man out, but now she could barely muster up enough civility to eat dinner at the same table as him.

“So! Your dad tells me you’re in the third grade.” Ken’s enthusiasm was beginning to flag at this sixth attempt at any kind of conversation with Mariah. “That must be exciting!”

“Yep.”

Patrick could feel his jaw starting to clench at Mariah’s continued one word answers.

“Are you learning anything fun right now?”

She shrugged, idly stabbing her fork at the salmon filet on her plate. “Just stuff.”

Ken glanced at her plate of food, all mostly untouched, and his forehead crinkled in concern. “Is your salmon okay?” he asked kindly. “Your dad says he’s not much of a cook, so I thought I’d try to make something fun for you guys tonight.”

“Dad’s a _great_ cook.”

Patrick snorted into his drink at her words. “Okay, Bug, I appreciate the vote of confidence, but we all know that’s not true. Plus Ken here is a professional.”

Mariah’s face darkened as she turned back to her plate.

“So. _Ken_.” Mariah twisted the word in her mouth, making it sound like a challenge more than a simple name. “Do you like Mariah Carey?”

Ken glanced warily at Patrick. “Uh…she’s...very good.”

“What’s your favorite Mariah Carey song?”

Stalling for time, he lowered his fork and picked his napkin up out of his lap, dabbing gently at his lips. “Can you really have a favorite?” he finally asked, smiling weakly.

“Yes.” Mariah crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t think you really like her.”

“Mariah.” She could hear the warning in her father’s voice, but she ignored it.

“I’m named after her, you know.”

Patrick rolled his eyes, his daughter’s antics becoming too much. “Okay, Bug, you are not.” Turning to Ken, Patrick continued, “She was named after my grandmother. Mariah Carey just happened to be her mother’s favorite singer, so we liked to joke that she was named for them both.”

Turning back to Mariah, Ken tried again. “Well, if she’s that important to you, I’ll just have to give her another listen, won’t I?”

Instead of responding, Mariah stood from her chair, looking over at her father. “May I be excused?” she asked. “I have some homework I need to finish. You don’t want my grades to start slipping, do you?”

Patrick’s lips thinned as he pursed them together. He and Mariah were going to have quite the conversation tomorrow. “Fine, Mariah, you’re excused. But just for homework. I don’t want to hear any YouTube or Tik Tok coming from your room until you show me it’s done.”

With a huff, Mariah began stomping out of the kitchen.

“Hey!” Patrick called before she had made it to the doorway. “Aren’t you going to thank Ken for the dinner he cooked for us?”

Turning back around, Mariah plastered a simpering smile onto her face. “Thanks for dinner, Ken. I’ve never seen anyone with shoes like that before.” Then she turned on her heel and left.

Patrick and Ken sat in silence for several seconds, both staring after her in surprise. Patrick snuck a glance down at Ken’s shoes, doing his best not to make a face at the weird toes - long and thin, but then squared off at the tip - before snapping his eyes back up to meet Ken’s as he turned a concerned face to Patrick.

“I thought you said she was okay with you dating men.”

“She is,” Patrick said, reaching out to grasp comfortingly at Ken’s elbow. “I promise. She’s just...I don’t know, maybe she’s just okay with the concept, but seeing it in person is going to take a little longer for her. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Ken said, his face softening as his hand came up to clasp over Patrick’s, lacing their fingers together. “This is new for us both. You’ve never been with a man, and I don’t know the first thing about kids.”

“We’ll take it slow?”

“One day at a time.”

Between the two of them, they made short work of cleaning up the kitchen. Patrick insisted on doing the dishes himself, as was only fair since Ken had cooked, so Ken showed him how to properly store the leftovers before sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of wine, chatting amiably while Patrick cleaned.

When the chores were through, Patrick led Ken into the living room and they sat down together on the sofa, Ken turned towards him with a small smile. Patrick smiled back awkwardly, wiping his suddenly sweaty hands on the front of his jeans.

As it became clearer and clearer that Patrick wasn’t going to make a move, Ken took matters into his own hands, cupping Patrick’s face gently and pulling him forward into a soft kiss.

Kissing Ken was...nice.

It was nice, but Patrick couldn’t help but feel just a little disappointed. It wasn’t Ken’s fault, he was sure. He had just built up the moment of his first kiss with a man so much in his head, it was impossible for anything to come close to that fantasy. He had expected fireworks, but what he got instead was just...nice.

Ken’s lips were thin and his face was clean shaven. His hand on Patrick’s jaw was small and slight. As Patrick wrapped an arm around his back, he could feel Ken’s ribcage, could even count the individual ribs. Patrick knew he shouldn’t get caught up in the superficial, that Ken was nice and he was funny and he was interesting and he was far more than just his body, but...he just wasn’t quite what Patrick had always pictured when he imagined himself with a man.

It was just something to get used to.

Ken deepened the kiss, opening his lips to coax Patrick’s tongue between them. He moaned softly, welcoming Patrick inside. Without even thinking, Patrick’s hands ran up Ken’s back until he could tangle his fingers in the short hairs at the nape of Ken’s neck.

Breaking the kiss with a jolt, Ken jerked back with an embarrassed laugh, one hand on Patrick’s chest to hold him back.

“Woah,” Ken laughed. “Sorry, no one touches my hair.”

“Oh! Oh my god,” Patrick stammered, a hot flush flooding his cheeks. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean…”

Ken grinned good-naturedly. “It’s no big deal,” he said, pressing another quick kiss to Patrick’s lips. “Just...it takes a _lot_ of effort to get this to happen, so I’m not interested in messing it up.”

“Uh...yeah,” Patrick nodded, his eyes flicking over Ken’s perfectly normal hair. “Totally fair.”

“But don’t let that stop you from other things,” Ken said coyly, his eyes growing dark as he pulled Patrick in closer for another kiss. “Things were just starting to get good.”

Patrick could feel himself frowning into the kiss. He would respect Ken’s wishes about his hair, of course he would, but he couldn't help the flood of memories that washed over him - of Rachel laying on the couch with her head in his lap, his hands tangled in her hair. He had always loved the feeling of it, the cool, silky strands slipping between his fingers, the casual intimacy of touch.

It was just one more thing Patrick needed to get used to with a new person. One more adjusted expectation.

* * *

David stared wide eyed up at the ceiling. The room was awash in darkness, but the moon was full and bright where it streamed through the window. Beside him in the bed, Jake snored peacefully. It was just past eleven and David was bone tired, but once again he just couldn’t fall asleep. He couldn’t turn off his mind, couldn’t stop thinking about Patrick Brewer.

A harsh jangling sound startled him, and he turned to grapple for his phone on the bedside table, silencing the vibrating notification. Pulling up his messages, he saw a new one from Stevie.

**Stevie: call me. nw.**

Clamoring as silently as he could out of bed, David padded across the floor and out of the room before he pulled Stevie’s contact up on his phone. It barely even rang before she picked up.

“Get on Instagram.”

“Stevie, what is going on?” David hissed, his free hand shooting out to grope at the wall for balance as he climbed down the stairs.

“Dr. Schitt is doing a live stream of her show and the kid is back on.”

“Oh my god, what? Where?”

“She’s doing an InstaLive right now. Hurry up!”

Snatching his laptop from the arm of the sofa, David turned this way and that in the darkness, unsure of where to go until he settled on holing up inside Jake’s walk-in pantry. He held his phone tight to his ear, listening to Stevie breathe while his fingers flew across the keyboard of his laptop, pulling up the live stream.

It took just a few short seconds, but it felt like forever before Dr. Schitt’s face filled the screen, sitting at her kitchen table in front of a microphone with a large pair of headphones covering her ears.

“Mariah,” Dr. Schitt said, her voice calm and soothing. “It’s okay, honey. This is a good thing. Your dad is getting out there! He’s dating!”

“You should have seen this guy though!” Mariah’s voice crackled over the telephone line and Dr. Schitt’s not so great internet connection, but David could hear the urgency and desperation in her voice. “He’s got shoes that I’m pretty sure he stole from an elf. And he has absolutely _nothing_ to say. He couldn’t even name _one_ Mariah Carey song that he liked.”

“Stevie, what’s going on?” David asked, trying to calm his frantic heartbeat all while getting a grip on what he was listening to.

“Patrick has a hot date.”

“Ew, with someone who doesn’t know anything about Mariah Carey? Pass.”

“Mariah.” Dr. Schitt continued to try and calm the girl. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? For your dad to find someone, to not be so lonely? Why isn’t this a good thing?”

“I mean, yeah, but not with _this guy_. He’s not the one I like!”

“Is that really fair, Mariah?” Dr. Schitt asked. “Shouldn’t your dad get to be the one who chooses who he spends time with?”

“Oh my god, they’re kissing!” Mariah hissed, the sound scratching through the laptop speakers.

“Mariah, are you spying on your dad right now?”

“Stevie, I don’t know that I can listen to this!”

“Suck it up, David, we’re in this together now.”

“Ew, he just climbed in my dad’s lap! I think he’s trying to swallow his face!”

“I’m not sure this is something you should be watching, Mariah. Why don’t you go back to your room and we can talk about what you’re _feeling_.”

“No, he’s a ho!” Mariah cried. “My dad’s been captured by a ho!”

* * *

Mariah knew in that moment, as she stood on the second floor landing that overlooked the living room, watching Ken straddle her father on the couch and stick his tongue down her father’s throat, that not even Dr. Schitt could help her now. There was only one thing to do. Mariah took a deep breath, opened her mouth wide, and screamed.

“AAAAARRGGGGGHHHHHHHH!”

* * *

“AAAAARRGGGGGHHHHHHHH!”

Light streamed into the pantry as the door was yanked open. David flailed in every direction as he screamed, both his phone and his laptop falling onto the floor. Usually he would be more concerned about the state of his electronics, but the heart attack he was sure he just experienced took precedence.

“David, what are you doing in here?” Jake asked, laughing through his yawn.

Faintly, David could still hear Dr. Schitt’s live stream as well as Stevie’s voice frantically asking him what was happening through the phone. With his heart still pounding in his chest, David scrambled across the floor, ending both the call and the live stream.

A knowing grin spread across Jake’s face.

“Were you watching porn in here?” he smirked.

David stared up at Jake, panting where he kneeled in front of him. He couldn’t tell Jake the truth, couldn’t bear to share with him the truth about his obsession with Patrick. So he did the only thing he could think of. Pulling Jake’s pajama pants down to his thighs, David swallowed his soft cock down in one gulp.

“Christ, David!”

Jake stumbled back with the ferocity of David’s blow job, but David grabbed onto his thighs and held him steady. In no time at all he had Jake rock hard in his mouth, sucking and slurping up and down the shaft. He took him deep, burying Jake so far in his throat he saw stars as he spluttered around him. Even as he gagged around the meat in his throat, David still forced him deeper, choking himself, willing the velvety haze that enveloped him to erase all thoughts of Patrick.

“Oh, fuck, that mouth is so good. Gag on it, David, that’s right.”

Tears were streaming down David’s face and saliva spilled from his lips, but still he was relentless. His chest heaved and his throat spasmed as he retched around Jake’s thick cock, and still all he could see was Patrick’s face smiling at him from the photo.

A sharp tug on his hair brought back David back to the moment and he moaned, the pleasure of it sending a shiver down his spine, but it was short lived. Jake pulled David off his cock, then gripping below David’s arms, pulled him up off the floor. With a quick bend of the knee, Jake hoisted David up into his arms, forcing his legs around Jake’s waist, and he carried him back up the stairs.

Throwing David down onto the bed, Jake shucked his pajama pants and crawled on top of him, straddling David’s shoulders. He fed his cock back between David’s spit-soaked lips, his head falling back in pleasure at the suction he felt along his shaft. Rolling his hips, he buried himself deep inside, fucking David’s face steadily, crying out with every thrust.

David let himself take it. He _wanted_ to take it. Wanted to just drift away, leave his body behind for Jake to use as he pleased.

All too quickly, though, Jake’s thrusts lost their finesse. His hips stuttered and with a loud groan, he came, his load hot and bitter on David’s tongue.

David lay numb as Jake flopped down beside him, silent while Jake’s heaving breath slowed. He jerked away from Jake’s touch when he felt his fiance reach for his cock, still soft in his pajamas.

Beside him, Jake laughed, though not unkindly. “Don’t be embarrassed, babe,” he teased knowingly. “It’s hot that you came in your pants just from choking on my cock.”

David didn’t say anything as he got up from the bed and padded to the bathroom. He splashed some cold water on his face, cleaning himself of the tears and saliva and cum. He changed his pajamas, letting Jake think he was right and that David had cum.

Jake was already snoring again when David crawled back under the covers. Turning away from him, David curled onto his side, drawing his knees up tight to his chest.

 _What am I doing?_ David thought to himself. _What is wrong with me?_

Quietly, so as not to awaken Jake, David cried himself to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ends on a real downer note and I both apologize and promise to not make wait nearly so long for the next update.


	6. Chapter 6

“I’m thinking of taking a trip,” David said casually. He was draped across the sofa in Stevie’s office, flipping through the pages of a magazine and listening to her peck away at her keyboard. “I need to start getting ideas for the summer season, and I think I should look into scouting some new talent. We should look for something fresh to exhibit, something...natural. What do you think?”

Sometimes David hated how well Stevie knew him, how she could turn all his walls into windows and see through him so clearly. But then sometimes...sometimes it meant she could give him just the right push.

Without looking up from her work, Stevie responded. “You know where you could really see that kind of vibe? Seattle.”

“Huh,” David said, tapping a finger against his chin, as if considering. As if that hadn’t been his plan all along. “You know, I think you’re right, Stevie.”

“I think a little trip sounds like a great idea.” Stevie’s fingers flew over her keyboard, her eyes staring at the words on the screen in front of her. “Just a weekend getaway to really get the feel of the place. Find some... _ art _ .”

“I think that is an excellent idea.”

“Plus I hear February is the best time to visit Seattle.”

* * *

Stevie was an enabler. There was no other word for it. There was no other way to explain why David was currently sitting in first class on an international flight, glass of wine clutched desperately in his hand. It was all Stevie’s fault.

“Don’t you just hate flying?”

David startled at the words, turning to look at the man sitting next to him, smiling back at him sympathetically. David grimaced out an approximation of a smile in return, trying his best to dial down his more obvious displays of anxiety.

“I usually don’t care this much, but I just told the biggest one to the man I’m about to marry and that...I don’t know, it doesn’t feel right. Is that how normal people feel when they lie?”

David winced, thinking back to the conversation he’d had with Jake the night before. It wasn’t really that big a lie, was it? Telling Jake it was a work trip? He was planning on visiting the SAM while he was out there, didn’t that count for something?

Truth be told, David really hadn’t thought Jake would be all that bothered by his trip, had thought it would barely register with him. But then Jake had reminded him that by the time David would get back, Jake would already be in Boston. David tried keeping things light, countering by talking up how romantic it would be to be reunited on Valentine’s Day in New York, but Jake seemed to be genuinely upset at the idea of spending over a week apart.

The reaction had melted David a bit, reminding him of the sweetness that had helped him fall for Jake in the first place, and he almost cancelled. But the ticket was already bought and the hotel booked, so instead he simply kissed Jake’s lips and led him to bed, riding Jake to a spectacular send off.

“Uh…I said  _ flying _ .”

“What?” David was ripped out of his reverie, the feeling of Jake’s strong hands gripping David’s hips melting away as he blinked, unsure how he was still talking to the man sitting next to him.

“I said...don’t you just hate  _ flying _ .”

“Mmm.” David pursed his lips and decided there was just no salvaging the situation. He tossed back his entire glass of wine, pulled his face mask down over his eyes, and tried to convince himself he was not making a colossal mistake.

* * *

“It was so nice of you to drive me all the way out here.”

“Mmm.” Patrick was distracted, keeping an eye on Mariah as she wandered nearby, peeking into the souvenir shops and Starbucks and currency exchanges that surrounded the airport security lines.

“I mean, I know you’re picking up Mutt and Twyla, too, so it wasn’t like...you weren’t  _ just  _ doing something nice for me. But...seriously, I can just catch the light rail when I come back.”

“Mmm hmm. Yep.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket to check the time. Mutt and Twyla’s flight would have already landed by now, and he didn’t want them to have to wait around baggage claim for too long.

“Patrick?” Ken asked. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Hmm? What?” Patrick snapped back to attention, taking in Ken’s laughing face. He sighed, shaking his head at his own behavior. “Sorry, sorry. You were saying?”

Rolling his eyes affectionately, Ken lifted up onto his toes and kissed Patrick’s cheek. “I was just saying thank you for bringing me here today. And uh…” He checked over Patrick’s shoulder, and when he couldn’t see Mariah, dragged him in for a filthy kiss. Smirking at the dazed expression left on Patrick’s face, Ken said, “Maybe when I get back, we can spend some time together? Just the two of us.”

Patrick nodded dumbly, his hands clutching at Ken’s hips, enjoying the warm press of their bodies. Ken kissed him one more time, sweet and simple, before grabbing the handle of his suitcase and walking off into the security line. Patrick’s eyes followed Ken until he was swallowed up by the crowd.

Turning back to the spot where Ken had just been standing, Patrick found Mariah staring back at him, a look of disgust twisting in her face. She opened her mouth, miming throwing up, but didn’t say anything.

Patrick shot her a stern look, internally rolling his eyes at her behavior. It had been a frustrating few weeks of dating Ken. She had been the one who wanted him to get back out there, to start dating again. Even though she had originally thought it would be women he would be dating, she had taken his coming out in stride, asking him important questions like which male celebrities he found the most attractive and trying to convince him to incorporate more rainbows and sequins into his everyday wardrobe, assuring him of their importance to his coming out. But as soon as he had brought Ken home, as soon as the idea of him dating another man moved from the abstract to reality, she had become a little terror.

“Bug,” Patrick sighed, holding out his hand for Mariah to take. “You’ve gotta stop this.”

Mariah’s lips pinched together in displeasure and she scuffed her feet on the floor, looking pointedly away from her father.

“Look, I like Ken. He’s a nice man and we’re spending some time getting to know each other. That’s what grownups do.”

“But all those people wrote you letters! And you won’t even read them!”

Patrick sighed in frustration. He couldn’t keep having this conversation with her, trying to explain why reading and responding to the letters just wasn’t how this whole thing worked. He looked up, scanning the signs hanging from the ceiling for one that would point him in the direction of baggage claim, and tugged on Mariah’s hand to get her to start walking.

“Bug…” He trailed off, unable to come up with a new argument. “I’ve told you, that’s just not how it works.”

“But they all wrote to you. So  _ they  _ think it’s how it works. And you liked David!”

Patrick tried not to groan when she brought up David, yet again.

“I saw you smiling when you listened to him! Why won’t you try to find out more about him? He wants to meet you on top of the Empire State Building on Valentine’s Day! Why can’t we go?”

“Mariah, stop!” Patrick stopped abruptly, cupping his daughter’s face and turning it up to look at him. “You’re just going to have to trust me, Bug, okay? I’m dating Ken now, but that doesn’t mean I will be forever. Dating...it’s like buying clothes. You don’t just pick out the stuff with the best colors or whatever, you’ve got to try it on and see how it fits. Ken and I, we’re...we’re just trying each other on. Seeing how we fit.”

“Well, I don’t like him.”

“Noted.” Patrick started walking again, keeping his pace slow enough for Mariah to walk comfortably at his side. “But I need you to be nicer to him. It’s not okay for you to be so rude to someone like that.”

Mariah scrunched up her face with a huff, but she nodded.

The truth of the matter was, Patrick wasn’t exactly sure how much he actually liked Ken, either. Sure, he was good looking and he was funny and they seemed to have endless things to talk about, but he still felt like something was missing. Some sort of spark.

Ken had been a complete gentleman in the weeks they had been dating, letting Patrick set the pace and seeming perfectly content with little more than leisurely make out sessions and some over the clothes groping. It was only after their last date when Ken had followed Patrick into his house, well after Mariah had been put to bed, and dropped to his knees in front of him. Patrick had sat back on the couch and spread his legs, had let Ken ease his cock out of his pants and into his wet, willing mouth. Careful not to touch Ken’s hair, Patrick spread his arms wide, gripping the back of the sofa and came with a soft gasp.

It was all over embarrassingly quickly, but Ken seemed to enjoy it, swallowing down Patrick’s load with a moan. He climbed onto Patrick’s lap afterwards, kissing him gently, swiping his tongue between Patrick’s lips to feed him his own taste. Patrick fumbled with Ken’s pants, but soon had his fist wrapped around him, tugging on Ken’s cock as he let out little high-pitched yelps, muffled in Patrick’s throat. It was too dry and all the wrong angle, but he came just a few minutes later.

Patrick had tried to tell himself that his disappointment was ridiculous, that just because he was finally having sex with a man didn’t mean it was going to be all fireworks and earth shattering orgasms at every turn. These things took time, and Patrick still had a lot to learn. And maybe Ken was right, maybe they just needed some time alone. It was hard to create a spark while also hanging out with a disgruntled kid, after all.

Patrick and Mariah were just stepping onto the escalator that would take them down to baggage claim where they could sit and wait for Mutt and Twyla when Patrick spotted him.

He was more filled out than Patrick remembered. The gaunt, clean shaven face was now fuller and more stubbled. The artfully distressed white t-shirt was still there, but the effortless cool of the leather jacket had been replaced with a cozy looking black cardigan adorned with white palm trees. The skin tight jeans were the same.

Patrick would know him anywhere.

Patrick’s heart leapt to his throat, almost choking him with emotion, as he stared at the man who had changed his life, all those years ago - the man who had finally made him realize his true self, who had taught him what it meant to truly desire someone.

He looked good. Still beautiful, but warmer than he had before. Almost cozy.

The man straightened up, struggling to pull his small suitcase off the carousel, and Patrick couldn’t help the grin that overtook his face.

“C’mon,” Patrick said, squeezing Mariah’s hand and doing his best to side-step the man parked in front of him on the escalator.

“Dad, what are you doing?”

“Nothing, Bug,” Patrick said, his eyes never leaving the man’s body. “I just want to get down there.”

Weaving his way through the crowd, dragging Mariah along with him, Patrick followed the man for several minutes, watching him continue to struggle with his bags while pulling a phone out of his pocket. Patrick had almost caught up to him, his heart thundering in his chest. He opened his mouth, just about to offer his help with the man’s bags, when he heard someone call his name.

“Patrick!”

Before he could even turn around, Mariah had dropped his hand and darted away from him, throwing herself into Twyla’s open arms. Mutt stood beside her, waving wildly. Patrick lifted a hand in acknowledgement, then whirled back around, still determined to say something,  _ anything _ .

But the man was gone.

* * *

Stevie had lied to him. David was standing on a sidewalk corner in a nice residential neighborhood with his jacket pulled tight around him, holding an umbrella to shield him from all the wetness that just hung in the gray Seattle sky. February, he would be sure to tell her when he got home, was absolutely  _ not _ the best time to visit Seattle.

David’s mouth twisted in disgust as he watched a few people walk past him, neither of them holding umbrellas, accounting for all their flyaways. He couldn’t give them the same pass for their brightly colored rubber galoshes and Columbia windbreakers. He couldn’t understand how anyone could live here voluntarily.

Turning away from the fashion crimes, David looked at the house across the street from him one more time. It had taken just a little digging on Alexis’s part, but she’d been able to track down an address for him. He’d felt a little creepy about taking it, even with Alexis’s reassurances.

_ It’s not stalking _ , she had told him.  _ His address was just there on the internet. Anyone could have found it if they knew where to look. _

David had tried to argue that most people  _ didn’t _ know where to look, but he took the address all the same. Which led him here, to a quaint little house on a quiet street.

Now that he was here, though, David wasn’t sure what to do. He couldn’t just... _ knock _ , could he? What would he say? How would he be able to explain himself?

_ Hi, I heard you come out to a strange radio psychiatrist on Christmas Eve and couldn’t get you out of my head. Then I did some social media stalking, and turns out I also saw you at my sister’s birthday party several years ago and your eyes have haunted my dreams ever since. So I had my sister scour the dark web to find out where you live and now I’m here. Want to get a coffee? _

David shook his head. This was absolutely insane.  _ He _ was absolutely insane.

Shaking out his hands to ward off his anxiety, David turned on his heel, walking away from the house. He needed to get a grip, needed to really think this through and make a game plan. When he had gotten to his hotel that afternoon, he had thrown his bags down on the bed and left immediately, making his way straight to Patrick’s door. Obviously, that had been a mistake, coming here so quickly.

He wasn’t sure where he was going, just walked for a few random blocks, but soon he saw signs indicating that he was headed for a large park. He followed the signs and soon found himself in a lovely, if decidedly damp, park overlooking Greenlake. Even in the midst of the February chill, David could see the beauty in the lake and the park. He walked to the water’s edge and looked out over the gloom, feeling full and melancholy.

A cry of laughter caught his attention, and David turned towards it. He could just make out two figures making their way along the trail that surrounded Greenlake. As they came into focus, David gasped.

It was him.

Patrick’s face was broken out in a wide grin as he jogged beside his daughter. She was bundled up in a ski coat, complete with scarf and gloves, but beneath it, David could see rainbow leggings and a bright pink tutu skirt to match the helmet on her head. She wore a chunky pair of skater shoes, braced on her skateboard, as she rode alongside her father. Her smile was as wide as Patrick’s, great peals of laughter bubbling out of her throat, and David liked her instantly.

They didn’t see David, so he held his breath. He didn’t want to break whatever spell had been cast over them, keeping them so happy and carefree. So he just stared wistfully after them, each beat of his heart aching a little bit more.

* * *

“So you didn’t even talk to him?”

David was back in his hotel room, an entire Pagliacci pizza on the bed next to him. He had changed into a cozier pair of drop crotch sweatpants and a big pair of fuzzy slipper socks he refused to let anyone but Stevie see him in, and curled up under the thick blankets.

“I couldn’t, Stevie. I saw them and I just…” He trailed off, closing his eyes and letting the look of pure joy on Patrick’s face fill his mind. It was a look he knew he would treasure forever, even if he wasn’t the person that look was for.

Stevie hummed, and David knew she understood. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“I was going to go to the art museum.”

“For the whole day?”

“I don’t know.” David pulled a slice of pizza out of the box, shoving it into his mouth with a groan of pleasure. He heard Stevie making disgusted noises at him, but he ignored her, letting the cheese and tomato ease his suffering.

“Are you going to try and see him again?”

David chewed thoughtfully. He really wasn’t sure what he was going to do. He had flown all the way out here, chasing after a man he knew nothing about. And when the moment came, he couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it.

“I don’t know,” he said again. “What do you think I should do?”

“I think you should go for it!”

Clapping his free hand over his face, David wiggled against the mattress, snuggling himself deeper into the blanket cocoon he had made for himself. Clutching his phone tight to his ear, David asked in a tiny voice, “Are you sure?”

“Yes!” Stevie’s reply was instantaneous.

“You don’t think this is totally crazy?”

When this reply wasn’t as instantaneous as the previous one, David let out an indignant squeak.

“Okay,” Stevie conceded, “it’s a  _ little _ crazy. But...I still think you should go for it!”

“Why?”

“Because if you don’t, you’ll regret it. You’ll always wonder what could have happened.”

David closed his eyes, sinking back into the pillows. He was already wondering, wishing he’d had the courage to say something today when he’d had the chance.

“What if I can’t do it?” he whispered.

“Then you’ll come home.” Stevie’s voice was soft, but matter of fact, and it soothed David. He could always count on Stevie. “You’ll come home, and you’ll know that you tried, and then you go forward.”

David appreciated that Stevie didn’t mention Jake.

“Okay.”

“I gotta hang up now, David. It’s like two in the morning here, and I’ve gotta go to sleep. Are you going to be okay?”

“I think so.”

“I love you.”

David smiled to himself, a warm feeling filing up his belly at Stevie’s words. “I know.”

* * *

It was mid afternoon the next day by the time David plucked up the courage to try again. He had spent the morning like he told Stevie he would, downtown at the Seattle Art Museum. They were showing a special exhibit of textile art made by women from Native tribes local to the area, and David could have spent days pouring over the history and the pain and the pride that was woven into each piece. He did his best to block out all thoughts of Patrick, all thoughts of Jake - he really did need to start planning his summer and fall shows.

Nothing had ever spoken to David the way that art did. It could be anything really, even pieces he found derivative or passe; it was all part of a world that David understood, a world of color and texture and movement and raw emotion. He felt at peace surrounded by paint and clay and textiles. By the time he left the museum, he felt calmer than he had in days.

Bypassing Patrick’s house, because he still had no idea how he would explain himself just showing up there, David made his way back up to Greenlake, hoping that by some miracle he would run into Parick there again. There were more people there this time, enjoying themselves in the park and at the lakeside and on the trail, all in spite of the gray weather. He saw picnicers and cyclists, a group of teenaged boys with a frisbee, and two young women with coffee drinks and books in their hands.

As David stepped up towards the walking trail, scanning through the small crowd of people, he spotted him. Patrick was in the grassy park area this time, a backwards baseball cap on his head, kicking what David was almost sure was a soccer ball back and forth with Mariah.

He could feel his belly swoop as he looked at him. He looked good, even with the goofy cap on. His smile was bright. The wet weather was curling the ends of his hair and the chill had brought a rosy glow to his cheeks. He was quick on his feet, nimble and sturdy as he kicked the ball, and David was sure he could watch him all day.

Something behind Patrick must have caught Mariah’s attention because she let out a yell, rushing past Patrick and throwing herself into the arms of another man. Patrick turned, his smile widening when he caught sight of the other man lifting Mariah right off the ground in a big bear hug.

David stood rooted to the ground as he watched Patrick make his way over to them both. The man set Mariah back on her feet, then wrapped his arms around Patrick, hugging him just as tightly. When Patrick pulled back, he was laughing, reaching up to cup the man’s face, his thumb caressing over his cheek bone.

David could feel his heart squeezing in his chest, the casual intimacy of the encounter almost too much for him to bear. He had just mustered up the courage to walk over and say something, but now…

_ That must be the ho _ , David thought to himself, his heart sinking, remembering Mariah’s last call in to the radio show. She seemed to have changed her tune pretty quickly. And why wouldn’t she? The man was gorgeous and Patrick clearly adored him.

The man swatted Patrick’s hand away from his face, then said something that made Patrick almost double over with laughter. A small smile twisted in David’s face, glad at least that Patrick was happy, that he had found someone to make him happy.

_ I should go _ , David thought.  _ I shouldn’t be here _ .

But he couldn’t get his feet to move.

Using Patrick’s laughter as a distraction, the man was able to steal the soccer ball from between his feet and pass it to Mariah, both of them taking off across the field with Mariah shrieking in delight. Patrick shook his head in fond exasperation and turned to follow, but he stopped short, his eyes instead locking with David’s.

David gasped under the weight of Patrick’s stare, those brown eyes so open and expressive, even from so many yards away. Patrick looked surprised, almost like he recognized David. David couldn’t move. He couldn’t  _ breathe. _

Patrick started walking towards him, determined and deliberate. David could feel his heart start to pound. This was it. This was the moment. He took a few hesitant steps forward.

When he was still a few yards away, Patrick stopped. He looked at David in wonder, like he wasn’t sure if he was real. David wasn’t sure he was real, either. He was afraid this was all a dream, that in just a moment he was going to wake up, back in Toronto with no hope of ever speaking to Patrick.

“Hello.”

David's breath hitched. Just one word in that heavenly, husky voice and he felt like he was sinking into a warm bath. Patrick was seeing him, Patrick was talking to him. Patrick was staring at him with such a look of fond adoration, David almost forgot how to speak.

“Hello,” he said back, the word coming out as little more than a sigh. Patrick’s lips curled into a smile at the word, and David felt like the sun had just come out. He took a breath, opened his lips to say more, and then-

_ DING DING DING _

“GET OUT OF THE WAY!”


	7. Chapter 7

“So he said...‘hello’.”

“Yes.”

“And then  _ you _ said…”

David groaned, the sound reverberating throughout the whole of Stevie’s tiny apartment, even muffled as it was from where his face was buried in a sofa cushion. The mortification of his experience had seeped down into his bones, knitting into their very pores to become a permanent part of David’s existence. He could still see Patrick’s face - every time he closed his eyes he watched it morph from soft wonder to a look of shock and horror as David was tossed ass over tit by a deranged rogue cyclist.

Humiliation burned, rippling beneath his skin, as he remembered his flailing limbs and undignified squawking, coupled with the shrill, angry voice of the cyclist screaming abuse at him for standing in the bike lane, as he tried to untangle himself from the wreckage. Even then, a day later and a whole international border between them, David could still feel Patrick’s eyes on him, could feel the whole of Seattle watching his indignity.

“So then…” Stevie continued hesitantly, trying desperately to hide the quaver of laughter in her voice. She felt for David, she really did. She could tell just how miserable the whole experience had left David, but...she was only human, after all. “The bike…”

“It came out of nowhere!” David snapped. He wasn’t positive that was true, but he certainly hadn’t noticed it until it was  _ on top  _ of him. And what was with that infernal bell ringing? If that was supposed to alert people to its presence, shouldn’t he have been ringing the bell well before careening into David? Squirming onto his back, David let out an annoyed huff as he stared up into Stevie’s ceiling, lip curling in distaste at the cobweb clinging to one of her ceiling lights.

“Okay, so after the bike…”

“I fucking ran, didn’t I?” David winced at the shill sound of his own voice. “What else could I do?”

“I don’t know.” Stevie rolled her eyes, pulling her knees up closer to her chest and leaning her head back against the sofa. “Maybe  _ not _ run away?”

David turned to glare, his face pinched in an icy display of displeasure. “Not an option.”

“Well, what did  _ he _ do?” Stevie asked, the exasperation in her voice only darkening David’s glare. “When your ass got sent flying, I mean.”

Closing his eyes, David tried to think back. He had been so wrapped up in Patrick, in staring at that soft, earnest face, drinking in the dopey baseball cap and the sweet cluster of curls escaping from the beneath the brim, the thick thighs and steady shoulders and strong hands - he truly hadn’t seen the bike coming until it was too late, until he was flat on the ground, thrashing about like a flipped turtle. He remembered voices - mostly just the disgruntled cyclist, but there were others, voices of concern. Someone asked if he was alright. A pair of hands helped him to his feet and tried to help right his clothing, but that was when David had turned tail and fled.

In the back of his mind, David thought he remembered someone calling after him, telling him to wait, but it was too much of a nightmarish blur to say for sure.

“I don’t know, Stevie,” David finally answered with a sigh, letting one of his arms fall back across his forehead in a swoon. “He witnessed my abject humiliation, isn’t that enough?”

“Okay, but...you said he stopped to talk to you. That he looked like he recognized you or something.  _ He  _ said hello to you first. Isn’t that, like, a sign or something?”

“A sign?” David shot up from where he was sitting, scrambled off the sofa and stomped across Stevie’s apartment to her sparse kitchen. An open bottle of wine sat right where they had left it after David had shown up, two drained glasses next to it on the counter. Gripping the bottle by the neck, David took a long swig. “You think that’s a sign? I’ll tell you what’s a sign: the fact that I was almost  _ crushed to death _ . I flew to another country, watched a man I don’t even know  _ exercise with his daughter _ , like...what? And then almost died.”

“You didn’t almost  _ die _ , you just got knocked around a bit.”

“You weren’t there!” David snapped, clapping his hands for emphasis between each word.

Stevie didn’t respond. Her eyes tracked David as he took another swig of wine, grimacing as he swallowed, before returning to his spot on the sofa. She gratefully took the bottle out of his hands, tipping her head back and pulling a long swallow.

“What are you going to do now?”

“Now I’m going to marry Jake.”

Stevie choked on her second swig of wine. Great coughs wracked her little body, her lungs burning as they tried desperately to clear. She felt one of David’s hands gently rubbing her back, soothing her through the worst of it, while the other carefully pried the bottle out of her hand and set it on the floor beside her.

“You  _ what? _ ” she finally managed to gasp out.

“What?” David asked, crossing his hands over his chest. His shoulders hunched inwards and his eyes darted back and forth from Stevie’s eyes to the floor.

“You’re still going to marry  _ Jake _ ?” Stevie climbed up onto the sofa next to David, crossing her legs beneath her and turning so they were face to face, so David couldn’t hide from her.

“Yeah, why?”

Stevie couldn’t help the look of incredulity that covered her face. “You are unbelievable. All that, and you’re still going to marry Jake.”

“All that, and all I have to show for it is a bruise the size of a bowling ball on my ass.” David scowled, tucking his feet up underneath himself and closing himself off even more. His fingers poked out the sleeves of his sweater, fiddling with the ends. “All that and all I have is the...uh,  _ painful _ realization that I am, in fact, a gigantic joke. So yes, thank you very much, I will be marrying Jake. I will be meeting him in New York in a week and it will be lovely and...and  _ romantic _ and we’ll all just forget the time I went crazy.”

Stevie let out a long suffering sigh. Shaking her head, too exasperated for words, Stevie reached into the pocket of her jeans to pull out her phone. She fiddled with it for a moment, then shoved it back in her pocket just as a notification sounded on David’s.

Pursing his lips, David pulled his own phone out of his pocket, shooting Stevie a confused look as he saw a forwarded email in his inbox.

_ For Patrick and Mariah _ the subject line read.

“What’s this?” he asked, opening the email and skimming quickly.

_ Dear David, _

_ Thank you for your email. It was great. You sound cute and really funny. I think we should meet. I’ve never been to New York but always wanted to go. I’ll see you on Valentine’s Day on top of the Empire State Building. _

_ Sincerely, Patrick _

When the words he was reading on the screen finally caught up with him, David gasped, clutching his phone as he looked up at Stevie with wide, frightened eyes. “Stevie, what is this!?”

“So I may have...recorded that conversation we had a couple weeks ago and sent it to him.”

“You did  _ what _ !?”

“Okay, in my defense,” Stevie said, clamoring up on her knees and waving her hands in front of her placatingly, “I was still  _ really _ high. And thought it was a good idea.”

“Oh my god!”

Stevie watched David close his eyes, breathing deeply, his cheeks puffing out with every exhale. “So,” she finally prompted. “Are you gonna go?”

David’s face had always been expressive, but Stevie didn’t think she’d ever seen this many emotions warring for prominence on it at one time.

“Am I going to  _ go _ ?” he screeched. “How...how could I go? For one thing, I’ll be there with  _ Jake _ . For another, it turns out Patrick has witnessed  _ two _ moments of my abject humiliation. And for a third…”

David trailed off, deflating before Stevie’s very eyes.

“You didn’t see the guy he was with.”

“The ho?”

David sank back against the sofa, his head falling back. “Yeah, but...I don’t know. He looked...he looked nice. And Patrick looked so happy to see him. I can’t...I can’t mess that up.”

Stevie could tell David was reaching the end of his emotional rope, so she snuggled up close and rested her head on his shoulder comfortingly.

“But, David,” she ventured cautiously, “he wrote to you.  _ He _ invited you to meet him in New York. So Seattle didn’t work out. So what? You’ll try again in New York.”

But David shook his head. “I can’t do it again, Stevie. And I can’t...I can’t do that to Jake.”

Stevie nodded, sadly. She wasn’t going to be changing David’s mind that day, and she knew if she kept pushing it would just make David more resolute in his choice. “I just want to see you happy,” she finally whispered.

David didn’t respond, just wrapped an arm around her shoulders and hugged her tight.

* * *

“Okay, so explain to me about this guy again?”

Patrick took a swig of his beer, shaking his head ruefully. He, Mutt, and Twyla were crowded around his kitchen table sharing a case of beer and a truly monumental plate of nachos that Twyla had whipped up. Mutt had gotten an admittedly frantic and incoherent explanation the day before at Green Lake, after Patrick had watched the tormentor of his dreams almost get flattened by a bike, and Twyla had gotten an even less concise explanation once they’d made it back home. Patrick wasn’t surprised they had some unanswered questions.

Pulling a chip from the pile, Patrick took a moment to organize his thoughts. He pulled on the cheese, dragging it out into a long string, before piling it back on top with the stack of beans and avocado, then popping it into his mouth. Chewing thoughtfully, he decided to just tell Mutt and Twyla everything.

“So, a while ago, I was at a party and I saw this guy.”

“Ooh!” Twyla clapped her hands excitedly, wiggling in her seat. “The one you told his mom about?”

“The one I...what?”

“Told his mom about!” Twyla repeated, as if it was her volume that had Patrick confused, not the content of her remark. She chomped down on a nacho, her explanation apparently finished.

“Dr. Schitt,” Mutt supplied, when Patrick turned his blank stare on him. “That was my mom’s radio show you called into.”

“Oh my god!” Patrick dropped his head into his hands, laughing at the absurdity. He’d never met Mutt’s parents - knew his relationship with them, especially his father, was fairly strained, but the coincidence was just too bizarre. “How did I not know that?”

“Don’t know, man,” Mutt teased, clapping Patrick on the shoulder before opening a second beer. “Schitt’s not exactly a common name.”

“My mom’s cousin was on a radio show one time,” Twyla piped up, carefully pulling a chip from the pile like it was a jenga tower she was afraid would come tumbling down at any second. “He held up a bank and when the police tried to start hostage negotiations with him, the only person he would negotiate with was the guy who did the late night traffic reports on CP24. Anyway, he’s in jail now.”

Patrick pressed his lips together, trying to hide his smile during Twyla’s story. He’d missed hearing about the crazy adventures of her vast family. Since moving out to Seattle, he hadn’t been home to visit Toronto even once. His parents had been out for a few visits, Mutt and Twyla, too, and there were plenty of texts and phone calls and video chats, but it wasn’t the same.

Mutt was making faces at him, silently communicating his own amusement with Twyla’s story, and Patrick was glad the distance hadn’t yet seemed to break them down.

“But anyway,” Mutt said, trying to steer the conversation away from kooky cousins and back to Patrick. “You met a guy at a party and…?”

“We didn’t meet,” Patrick corrected. “I just...saw him. And he’s the one who made me finally be able to admit to myself that I’m gay.”

“So you didn’t even talk to him?”

“Nope.” Patrick shook his head, a small, wistful smile playing on his lips as he was once again thrust back to that party from all those years ago. “Never got his name, never saw him again.”

“Oh, that’s so romantic!” Twyla sighed, clutching her nacho to her chest like she was cradling a token from a lost love. “That one person could have such an effect on you, and he never even knew it!”

“Okay, so then what was the deal with the guy at the park yesterday?”

“That’s him. The guy from the party.”

“What!?”

Patrick couldn’t help but laugh at the twin looks of shock on Mutt and Twyla’s faces.

“You’re kidding!”

“Nope.” Patrick stood up, rounding the table and making his way to the fridge for another beer. He pulled one out of the door, silently offering one to Twyla before grabbing another for himself. “I saw him the day before, too, at the airport. Right before I met up with you guys.”

“Oh my gosh, that’s so exciting!” Twyla accepted the beer Patrick handed her, taking a small sip.

“But you still haven’t talked to him?” Mutt asked.

Plopping himself back down in his seat, Patrick took a long swallow before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and shaking his head. “Tried both times, but...well you saw what happened yesterday. I helped him up after the bike took him down, but he just took off.”

"And at the airport?"

"Lost him in the crowd before I could get to him."

“And you have no idea who he is?” Twyla tried. “Nothing from back home to connect him to? Mutt, you didn’t maybe recognize him?”

Mutt scrunched up his face, thinking back, but ultimately shook his head. “I barely got a look at him.” He shrugged apologetically. “Could probably tell you more about the bike that hit him than the guy himself.”

Twyla slumped back in her seat, disappointment evident on her face. “Shoot.” She took another nacho from the plate, picking at and rearranging the toppings as she spoke. “That would have been such a good story, you finding the mystery guy you fell in love with all those years ago.”

“Well, let’s not get carried away,” Mutt interjected. “He thinks he’s good looking, he’s not in love with the guy. He doesn’t know anything about him!”

“It’s more than that, though,” Twyla argued back. “Isn’t it, Patrick?”

“I guess.” Patrick ran his thumb along the label on his beer bottle, the condensation wetting the paper, making it easy to tear. “I mean, Mutt’s right, I literally know nothing about him, but when I looked at him...each time, it was like...it was like I did. Like I’d known him forever.”

They sat in silence for several minutes, each contemplating Patrick’s mystery man, until Twyla spoke up again. “You know, my mom’s cousin, the one who held up the bank...he ended up marrying one of the hostages. From what I hear, it was a very moving ceremony.”

Mutt rolled his eyes good-naturedly and kissed Twyla’s temple, both humoring and adoring her.

“I’m just saying,” she continued. “Crazier things have happened. He could be the one.”

“Ew.”

All three turned at the sound of a new voice finding Mariah in the doorway, her face twisted in disgust.

“Are you talking about Ken?”

“You don’t like Ken?” Twyla asked, grabbing onto Mariah’s hand as she made her way further into the kitchen and pulling her in for a sideways hug.

“He wears elf shoes,” Mariah grumbled, snuggling in close to Twyla’s side as she scrunched up her nose. “And he cooks weird food.”

Patrick rolled his eyes as Twyla and Mutt turned to him with twin expressions of delight.

“Is this true?”

“No!” Patrick crossed his arms over his chest, trying not to glare defensively at his daughter or his friends. “He’s not...okay, the shoes are weird. They’re long and thin, but then...I don’t even know. But his cooking isn’t weird, Mariah’s just not used to eating food that doesn’t taste like it should be served in prison.”

Wiggling out of Twyla’s grip, Mariah leaned over the table to pick through the remains of the nachos. “He  _ really _ likes sticking his tongue down Daddy’s throat.”

“Oh,  _ reeeally _ ?”

“No, that’s not-”

“Yes, he does,” Mariah cut Patrick off, munching on her chips and sucking the mess of sour cream and refried beans and guacamole from her fingers. “He’s all muah muah muah muah bleuuugh!” Mariah closed her eyes and stuck out her tongue for extra emphasis.

“Okay, I think that’s enough,” Patrick said sternly, grabbing several napkins and passing them pointedly in Mariah’s direction. “Ken is a perfectly nice man, and he and I are just spending some time getting to know each other.”

“And each other’s tonsils apparently.”

Patrick shot an unamused look in Mutt’s direction while Mariah giggled. “You’re not helping.”

“Wasn’t trying to help.”

“I bet  _ David  _ wouldn’t wear weird elf shoes.” Mariah didn’t look at her dad as she said it, just helped herself to more nachos, so she didn’t see the look that came over his face. “And he wouldn’t give you so many sloppy mouth kisses, either.”

“David?” Twyla asked. “Who’s David?”

Patrick huffed out a sigh, exasperation prickling beneath his skin. “He’s no one.”

“He’s not no one!” Patrick sighed again as Mariah stamped her foot on the ground. He was just so tired of hearing about David. “He sent us an email after Dad was on the radio. He wants to meet us!”

“Okay, that makes it sound better than it was, and it’s already completely insane.”

“It’s not insane!” Mariah stamped her foot again, her face darkening with anger. “He liked you, Dad! And you liked his email, too! Why won’t you just go meet him? He's from Toronto. He could be your new boyfriend!”

“Okay, Mariah, that’s enough. I think it’s time for bed.”

Patrick started to stand, ready to lead Mariah to the bathroom for teeth brushing and face washing, but she whirled around and stalked out of the kitchen, tossing a defiant, “I can do it myself!” over her shoulder on the way.

Mutt and Twyla stared after her in stunned silence as Patrick sat back down, taking a long pull from his beer.

“What was that all about?” Twyla finally broke the silence.

“Nothing, just…” Patrick sighed, setting the beer back on the table. “I got thousands of responses from that radio interview. She gave the station our address and my email address and just...thousands of letters from guys. And this one...it wasn’t even an email, it was a...a recorded conversation between this guy and his friend, both clearly stoned out of their minds, talking about what he should say if he wrote me a letter or ever got to meet me. She heard me listening to the file and now she’s completely obsessed with the guy.”

“Wow.” Twyla reached across the table, grabbing Patrick’s hand and squeezing it tight. “And what did you think of him?”

“I don’t know.” Patrick shrugged. “I mean, she’s not wrong, I did...I did find the whole thing kind of endearing. And I may have listened to it more than once, but...that’s just not how these things work, is it?”

“What if he’s your mystery guy?”

Patrick rolled his eyes, though he instantly felt bad about it. It was hard to be annoyed in the face of Twyla’s sweetness.

“That just seems like way too many coincidences.”

The three lapsed into silence. Desperate to change the subject, Patrick sat forward and took another swig of beer. “So, Twyla,” he said, “how are you handling Mutt’s new look? Did he unearth a goldmine, or is there suddenly way too much face?” He laughed, ducking as Mutt threw a tomato at him. “I almost didn’t recognize him without his usual mountain man look!”

Patrick leaned back in his chair contentedly, the tension dissipating as Twyla took up the subject, gently ribbing Mutt’s new look. God, he’d missed this. Twyla and Mutt were two of his best friends. They’d been there for so much of his life, through his rocky marriage, the birth of his daughter, Rachel’s illness and death. And here they still were, years after he’d moved away, just as warm and funny and happy as they’d always been. He wished he could see them more. He missed Twyla’s sunny optimism and crazy stories, Mutt’s stoic calm. And now that they were here, he lapped up their friendship and attention, wrapping himself up in their companionship like a balm for his lonely heart.

And maybe if they were around more, Patrick would have noticed Mariah sneaking his credit card out of his wallet.

* * *

“But why do you have to go?”

As he zipped his travel bag closed, Patrick sighed for what felt like the thousandth time. While Mutt and Twyla visited, Mariah was mostly distracted, too busy spending time with his friends to give too much attention to Patrick’s dating life. It didn’t hurt that Ken was out of town at the same time. But now that everyone had returned home, Mariah’s attention was laser focused on him again. “It’s just for one night, Bug. Ken and I are just driving up to spend one night at his brother’s cabin and then we’ll be back tomorrow afternoon.”

“Okay, but why do you have to go?”

Patrick turned to look at his daughter. She was standing in the doorway of his bedroom, still in her pajamas with her curls askew. Her arms were crossed over her chest and her bottom lip poked out in a pout, her face dark and clouded.

“I don’t  _ have _ to go, Bug, I want to go.” Her dislike of Ken was becoming more and more of a struggle. Every time he went on a date, Patrick knew there would be a battle beforehand. He could barely bring himself to invite Ken to the house anymore, unable to predict how Mariah would behave. He was starting to lose his patience; Mariah was too old to be acting this way, but it was hard for him to be too stern with her, knowing that some of her behavior surely stemmed from grief.

“Ugh, why?” Patrick gritted his teeth against Mariah’s whine, silently counting to ten in his head to make sure his voice stayed level. “Why do you even like him?”

“He’s a nice man, Mariah,” he said, grabbing two discarded shirts off the bed and hanging them back up in the closet. “I enjoy spending time with him.”

Mariah scoffed, rolling her eyes in disbelief. “You just want to have  _ sex _ with him.”

“Mariah!”

“You do! You don’t care about anything I say, you just want to go away to have sex!”

“Young lady, that is enough,” Patrick said sternly, ushering Mariah out of the doorway and back towards her own room. “I am getting real tired of your attitude. You’ve been nothing but rude to Ken since you met him and there’s absolutely no reason for it. And you’ve been rude and disrespectful to  _ me _ .”

“But what about David?”

Patrick stopped short just inside Mariah’s bedroom. “What? What about David?”

“He’s the one I like! He’s the one I want you to be with! You’re supposed to be meeting him at the Empire State Building today!”

Patrick groaned, grabbing the sides of his head in both hands. “Mariah, I’m not having this conversation with you again, okay? I’m not going to New York. I’m not going to meet David. You need to get over it!”

“Mom would have done it!” Mariah yelled, stamping her foot down. “Mom would think it was an adventure! She wasn’t afraid like you!”

“Well, I am not your mother.”

Mariah’s face screwed up in anger, turning darker and more twisted than Patrick has ever seen it. Her eyes flashed, filled with hot tears, and her lips trembled, curling back away from her teeth.

“I hate you!” Mariah screamed. “You never listen to me! I wish it was you who had died!”

Patrick reared back, stunned by Mariah’s words. He could see on her face that even she was surprised by her vehemence, that she already regretted what she had said. But that couldn’t stop the icy numbness that tingled throughout Patrick’s entire body or the way he could feel his heart shattering in his chest.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” he said quietly before turning and firmly closing Mariah’s door behind him.

Maybe it was wrong of him. Maybe a better parent would have stayed and tried to work things out, but even as he could hear Mariah crying through her closed door, Patrick knew he needed to take a minute to regroup. And maybe Mariah did, too. Maybe some space to calm down and sort out her feelings would be good for her.

Throwing himself onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling, Patrick tried to think. Should he cancel? All he’d wanted was one night. One night for him and Ken to go away together. One night in a little secluded cabin, one night of finally,  _ finally _ getting laid. He’d been waiting for this for so long. Was it selfish to want this for himself, even when it made his daughter so unhappy?

Patrick could feel hot tears of his own burning beneath his eyelids and he brushed them away angrily. Why was this so hard? He didn’t think he was asking for all that much.

Hours later, Patrick awoke with a start at the sound of knocking at his front door. He got up slowly, yawning and shaking the sleep from his brain as he trudged towards the door.

“Hi, Gwen,” he said, stepping aside to let her in. “Thanks for doing this. I should be heading out in a few minutes, so let me just say goodbye to Mariah before I go.” He turned, calling up towards the bedrooms. “Mariah? Mrs. Currie's here!”

Hearing nothing, Patrick trotted up the steps and knocked softly on Mariah’s door. “Mariah, honey?” Nothing but silence. “Mariah, I’m sorry if you’re still mad at me, but I’m leaving in a few minutes and I want to say goodbye. Can I come in?”

Patrick heaved a heavy sigh when he was met with still more silence. Was this worth it? Was one night of Valentine’s Day sex really worth this constant struggle with his daughter?

Unwilling to leave without saying goodbye, Patrick opened the door and slowly pushed in. “Mariah, can I-” He stopped short, eyebrows drawing down when he saw she wasn’t in her room.

“Mariah?” He checked the bathroom, his bedroom, the guest room, but there was no sign of her. He thundered down the stairs, frantically checking every room. He ran out the front door, calling her name, but still there was no sign of her. He could feel the blood rushing into his ears, his heart rate skyrocketing. Snatching his phone up from the kitchen counter, he dialed the first number he could think of.

“Hello?”

“Mutt?” His voice was thin and frantic, a tiny echo as the call connected. “Mutt, oh my god, I don’t know what to do. Mariah...Mariah’s gone.”

“What? Patrick, slow down.”

“She’s gone, man. She...we got in a big fight earlier today and I left her alone in her room, but now she’s not there. Her babysitter’s here and we’ve...we’ve looked everywhere, all around the house, and there’s no sign of her!”

“Okay.” Mutt’s voice was soft and calm in his ear, just the sort of thing Patrick needed at that moment. He took a big breath, listening to Mutt’s soothing, rational advice. “Okay, calm down. We’re going to find her. Think about what you were fighting about. Maybe that will give you a clue to where she’s gone.”

“It was about Ken.” Patrick closed his eyes, trying to stave off the hurt he had felt at her words. This wasn’t the time to dwell on that. “She was upset about our weekend plans. She-”

He was cut off by buzz on the phone, alerting him to a new notification. Instinctively, Patrick pulled the phone away from his ear to check the notification, and out of habit he clicked on it. An Uber receipt filled the screen asking him to rate his driver and leave a tip.

“What?” Patrick’s brows knitted together. He couldn’t remember the last Uber ride he took, and he was sure he would have left a tip already. But it was timestamped for earlier today, and the destination listed was -

“Oh my god, Mutt, she’s at the airport.”

“The airport? Why? Where’s she going?”

“She’s going to New York!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go, but then I think this fic deserves an epilogue, don't you??


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END!! (or is it??)

Ronnie crossed her arms over her chest, watching the crowds shuffle forward, turning in their tickets and making their way into the elevators to take them up to the observatory decks of the Empire State Building. There was a big crowd today. There were always crowds - groups of tourists from all over the world wanting to climb to the top and look out over the horizon. But Valentine’s Day usually saw those crowds swell to even bigger numbers.

Ronnie’s lip curled and she grunted in derision. The romance of heights and tourists would never be something she understood.

“I auditioned for a Broadway show yesterday.”

Ronnie took a breath, silently counting to ten before responding to Robin, her co-worker’s non-sequiturs as bizarre as her sudden interest in acting.

“Oh yeah, and how did that go?”

Robin didn’t respond right away. She was usually soft spoken - dour and humorless, with little emotion permeating her speech - and Ronnie wondered if maybe she had just missed her answer, until -

“I’m okay with nudity.”

Ronnie grimaced, turning her disapproving face Robin’s way. “Is that what I asked?”

Without answering, Robin trudged away, drudgingly ushering a new crowd of visitors towards the elevators, her monotonous voice swallowed up by the din of the crowd.

Ronnie shook her head, trying to clear away the exchange, when she caught sight of a little girl in the line. Ronnie scanned the people surrounding her, but she didn’t seem to belong to any of them. The little girl had a determined look on her face, and she stood with her head up, looking forward, like she knew exactly where she was going and that she belonged there.

But still, a little girl all by herself at the Empire State Building? Ronnie didn’t like it.

Sidling up to the girl, Ronnie put on her best disapproving face and stared her down. “You here by yourself?”

The little girl looked up, the expression on her face one to rival Ronnie’s own. “It’s weird for strange adults to talk to children they don’t know.” She crossed her arms over her chest, staring Ronnie down like she expected nothing less than for her to turn tail.

It took effort for Ronnie not to laugh, the scowl on the little girl’s face completely charming her. She tapped on the nametag pinned to her chest, indicating her employment with the building. “My job to look for suspicious activity, kid. And a little girl here by herself is suspicious. What’s your name?”

“Mariah,” she answered, her voice betraying her displeasure at being forced to answer. “And I’m not here by myself. I’m meeting my new dad.”

Ronnie hmph’d in disbelief. “Oh yeah, what’s his name?”

“David.”

“And he’s meeting you here?”

Mariah shoved her ticket into Ronnie’s face. “Yep. Got my ticket and everything.”

Ronnie took the ticket from Mariah’s hand, her eyes scanning over the paper in front of her. It all looked in order and there weren’t any rules against letting Mariah up by herself. Ronnie didn’t like it, but she handed Mariah back her ticket and nodded her forward, resting her hands on her hips as she watched Mariah get swallowed up by the elevator. As the doors closed, Ronnie reached for the walkie at her hip and radio’d up to Darlene.

* * *

David’s eyebrows knitted together as he and Jake were led to their table. Jake had promised to let David choose where they would go for their Valentine’s Day dinner, and a quick drop of Moira Rose’s name had allowed David to squeeze in a last minute reservation at the iconic Rainbow Room, but once they were there, after he had spent the better part of an hour convincing Jake that yes, he absolutely did need to wear a dinner jacket, David wasn’t so sure it was worth it. The opulence of the room was stunning, the silver and white aesthetic matched his pinstriped Thom Browne suit to perfection, and the menu was sure to be to die for.

But Jake just looked uncomfortable and put out, like the glitz and the glamor surrounding them was garish and burdensome instead of thrilling. David had been excited, but as he watched Jake tug at the collar of his jacket and wrinkle his nose at the sumptuous decor, he just felt embarrassed.

He didn’t need Jake to like everything that he did, didn’t need Jake to want all the same things, but...he just wanted Jake to make an effort. To not leave him feeling like the pieces of his life that Jake didn’t like to engage with were something to be ashamed of, something to hide away. He didn’t want to feel bad about the lavish parties he threw at his gallery or for the clothing he so meticulously took care of, just because Jake liked things simple. He didn’t want to keep his feelings to himself about each new exhibition he showed, just because Jake wasn’t interested in what he didn’t understand.

Maybe Stevie had been right all along. Maybe he was settling for Jake. Maybe he deserved more, someone who appreciated those bits of him they didn’t understand instead of just leaving David to deal with them in secret.

David shook his head. Where were these thoughts coming from, he wondered. He was fine, Jake was fine. They were both... _fine_.

But as he took his seat, chancing a glance out the window and catching sight of the Empire State Building looming before him, David felt his heart sinking. He looked back at Jake, at the expression on his face that was becoming more confused and more put out the longer he perused the menu in front of him, and knew that _fine_ wasn’t what he wanted.

At David’s sigh, Jake looked up.

“What's going on with you, man?”

David tried to play it off like he didn’t know what Jake was talking about, but Jake was having none of it.

“No, David, c’mon. You’ve been acting weird for weeks now.” A waiter approaching their table stopped a few feet away, eyeing them warily as if he could tell this wasn’t a conversation he wanted to interrupt. “I know you don’t think I notice when something’s wrong, but I do. I want to know what’s going on.”

David let out a breath, and nodded. “Let’s just order,” he said softly, reaching across the table to squeeze Jake’s hand. He wasn’t sure how this conversation was going to go, how he even _wanted_ the conversation to go, but he knew he was going to need alcohol and good food to get him through it. “We’ll order and we’ll have a nice dinner and we’ll talk.”

At Jake’s nod, David signaled for the waiter.

* * *

“I just can’t believe it, Mutt,” Patrick said, his phone pressed tight to his ear as he scrambled through JFK airport as quickly as possible without actually mowing anyone down. “She ran away. She...she booked her flight days ago. Bought a ticket for the Empire State Building. Stole my credit card. She had this _planned._ ”

Patrick had thought he would feel some semblance of relief once the plane had taken off, but that turned out not to be the case. Instead, after a frantic Uber ride, a near meltdown in the airport, a barely coherent text to Ken, and an obscene amount of money put down for a last minute flight to New York, the inactivity of sitting on a plane left him with nothing to do but stew in his own thoughts. By the time he finally made it to New York, he was half out of mind, spiraling between worse case scenarios of never seeing his daughter again and recriminations of his own guilt.

Nothing ever seemed to get to Mutt, though - he was just too laid back for anything to affect him - and his stoic calm was exactly what Patrick needed as he hailed a cab.

“Empire State Building,” he barked at the driver as he slid into the backseat. He wasn’t even listening to Mutt at this point, just let the soothing voice of his friend wash over him and keep him from crawling out of his skin.

“Am I a bad father?” he asked, cutting off whatever reassurance Mutt was offering.

“Of course not.” Mutt’s response was immediate and firm, which Patrick appreciated even as he dismissed it. Mariah had run away. She had _run away_. She has hopped on a plane and flown across a country to get away from him. That had to mean something.

“I am, I’m a bad father. She said-” Patrick took a ragged breath, blinking back tears crowding into the corner of his eyes. He couldn’t cry, not yet. Not until he had Mariah safe in his arms again. “She said she hated me. This morning, she said she wished that it had been me that died and not Rachel.”

Patrick heard Mutt’s sharp intake of breath, and his heart clenched, shame rippling through him. That his daughter could ever say such things, could ever _feel_ so much anger...it broke his heart.

“She didn’t mean that.” Patrick let his head fall back against the seat cushion, closing his eyes against the tears still threatening to fall and trying to take Mutt’s words to heart. “You got in a fight and she said what she knew would hurt you the most. We all do that. We all say things we don’t mean when we fight.”

“Yeah.”

They lapsed into silence, but it was broken by a notification on Patrick’s phone. He pulled it from his ear and opened up the text from Ken. 

Ken  
  
Look I don't think this is going to work out  
  
We can talk more when youre back in the city but I just don't think this is worth it  
  
It shouldn't be this hard

Patrick snorted. “Well, that’s one thing I don’t have to worry about anymore,” he said, rolling his eyes and closing the app without a response.

“What?”

“Ken just dumped me.”

“The fuck?” Patrick appreciated Mutt’s righteous indignation. Who breaks up with someone in the middle of a crisis? Over text message? “At least Mariah will be happy about that.”

_If I ever find her._

* * *

“So this guy could be here? Right now, waiting for you?”

David took a sip of his manhattan, glancing out the window at the huge heart lit up on the Empire State Building. There was a part of him that felt it was mocking him, the cheery romanticism such sharp contrast to the break up he was pretty sure he was in the middle of. But for the most part, it just looked like hope. Just made him feel warm and comforted, like he knew the right person was still out there, waiting for him.

“No,” he said softly, shaking his head as he set his glass down. “No, I don’t...I don’t think so.”

“But he might be.”

David’s eyes snapped up to Jake’s, surprised by the warmth he found in them. “I guess.”

Jake reached across the table and took David’s hand in his. They were rough and calloused and always too dry. No matter how many times David would scold Jake on proper skin care, he just wouldn’t listen. But they were strong, and they were warm, and as they squeezed David’s, he was hit with a wave of affection.

Jake was a good man. He had listened to David’s story without judgement, without anger. He had listened to his fiance tell him about falling for another man, a man he had never even really met, and only offered comfort and encouragement.

“David, I…” Jake trailed off, turning away to clear his throat. It wasn’t often that David saw Jake get emotional, and he could feel a mirroring lump lodging in his own throat at the sight. “I love you,” he said, turning back to look David square in the eye. “But I don’t want you to settle for me. I don’t want _anyone_ to settle for me.”

“Jake,” David began, but he was cut off.

“No, listen.” Jake smiled, that bright, easy smile that had so easily charmed David in the beginning. “I’m a...I’m an open-minded guy. I’m up for anything, but I like things to be simple. And you...David Rose, you’re anything but simple.”

David wrinkled his nose, pulling his hand out of Jake’s grasp. “I don’t know what that means.”

Jake laughed, taking a long pull from his beer. “I mean it in a good way. You’ve got more to you than a simple guy like me could ever hope to understand. You deserve someone who can appreciate it.”

“Yes, well…” David’s hands were restless in front of him. He knew this was the right thing, that ending his relationship with Jake was the only option for both of their sakes, but the thought of being alone again still made his heart race and his stomach turn. He could hear a small voice in the back of his head, _screaming_ at him to stop, to stay with Jake, telling them that an unfulfilling relationship was better than no relationship at all.

He turned, looking out the window at that beating heart, his own beating just in time. As he took a breath, the voice in his head quieted and a peaceful calm settled over him. He wasn’t alone. He had Stevie, he had Alexis and Ted, he had his family. He didn’t need to settle for Jake. And Jake deserved someone who saw him as more than a consolation prize.

“I can’t marry you, Jake.”

For one brief moment, a shade of grief dimmed Jake’s eyes, but before David even had the chance to feel guilty, Jake had reached across the table to take both of David’s hands in his and brought them to his lips. When he pulled away, there was nothing but affection on his face.

“I’m gonna miss you,” Jake said, his thumbs caressing the backs of David’s hands. “But I just want you to be happy. And...I hope I get to hear what happens next with you and your guy.”

David shook his head, a rueful smile curled in his lips. “There’s not going to be a next. There’s no way he’s there.”

Leaning back in his chair, Jake shrugged. “You do you, man, but...I think you should at least try. See for yourself.”

“You really think so?”

“Why not?”

David took a gulp of his manhattan, his heart beginning to beat faster. The warmth of his drink slid down his throat igniting in his belly. Was he really considering this? He thought he had put Patrick behind him, sworn off this whole crazy adventure, but...maybe he should try one last time. Maybe he owed it to himself.

David could feel his whole body tensing with anxiety and excitement. His lips pressed together and his eyes squeezed shut. His hands balled into fists, shaking until he actually couldn’t contain it any longer. He covered his face with his hands, peeking through his fingers at Jake’s broad smile.

“Okay,” he said, his own smile breaking through. “Okay, I’m gonna…” He stood, his hands waving at his sides. “I’m gonna...go.”

Just as he was turning to go, their waiter stepped up to their table, dessert in hand. David hesitated, eyeing the gorgeous chocolate mousse that was set down at his place. In an instant, he had one giant spoonful stuffed in his mouth, and then with an indecent moan that had diners turning their heads to stare, he turned and fled.

Over his shoulder he could hear Jake’s good-natured laugh and a call of “Good luck!”

* * *

“Stevie!”

“What do you want?”

David let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding when he finally heard Stevie’s voice come on the line.

“I was kinda busy, Rose, so this better be good.”

“Stevie, I’m doing it!” Excitement vibrated beneath David’s skin. He clutched his phone to his ear, sure that without its grounding presence he would have to faint or scream or do _something_ to get rid of all this pent up energy.

“You’re...what?”

“I’m doing it! I...I just broke up with Jake and I’m going to the Empire State Building. I just left the restaurant.”

“Oh my god!” David could barely hear Stevie’s excited squeal over his pounding heart, but he felt her with him. “Oh my god, David, I’m so happy for you!”

David stopped at the next light, clutching at his chest as he panted. Running had never been something he was especially good at. “Don’t...don’t be too happy for me yet, I have to make it there first.”

“Do you think he’s there?”

The light turned to WALK, and with a groan, David began to run again. “I don’t...I don’t know, Stevie. But I have to try.”

“Oh my god, I can’t believe this. I’m so excited!”

“And if he’s...oh my god, I can’t breathe. Ugh! If he’s not there, it’s okay. I’m okay, just on my own.”

“Of course you are,” Stevie scoffed. “You have me!”

David rolled his eyes. “Not sure that’s a prize.”

“I’m sorry, and you think you are?”

David didn’t respond, just grinned to himself.

“So...hypothetically,” Stevie hedged after a few seconds of nothing but David’s wheezing breath between them, “if someone you used to be engaged to just texted me wanting to hook up when he was back in town-”

David cut her off with a laugh. It was a great, big thing, a full belly laugh that had him doubled over, tears springing to his eyes. Maybe he should have been upset, maybe he should have been hurt, but he just couldn’t. Not now, not when Jake had let him walk away with nothing but well wishes as he chased after a greater love. Not when his friendship with Stevie had been the single greatest of his life.

“Get yours, Pony!” was all David could say, and he meant it.

* * *

It was late by the time Patrick made it to the Empire State Building. He was sure they must be closing soon, but there was still a line, both for tickets and the elevator. Patrick’s heart was in his throat, beating so fast and so hard, he was sure he would choke on it. He stood still, just in the doorway, scanning over the small crowd.

 _What if she’s not here?_ he thought, his blood running cold. _What if I don’t find her?_

He shook his head. He couldn’t think about that, not yet. He had to keep moving forward.

His eyes landed on a middle aged black woman with short cropped hair and a no-nonsense expression on her face. Her name tag and the walkie at her hip told him she was here in an official capacity and the authority with which she held herself told him she was the one he needed to speak with.

“I need to get to the top!” Patrick said, striding forward and planting himself in the woman’s path. _Ronnie_ , he noted, getting a better look at her name tag now that he was standing right in front of her.

Ronnie made a face, sucking her teeth in annoyance and looking Patrick up and down. “Do you not see the ticket line over there?” she asked, indicating with a nod of her head.

“No, you don’t understand, I-”

“What I don’t understand is why you are bothering me.” Ronnie turned away, finished with the annoying man who couldn’t follow instructions.

“No, I-”

“Seriously, man?” Ronnie was done. This guy wasn’t getting up to the top if he kept up this nonsense. “This feels right to you?”

Patrick took a breath, trying his best to calm down. He wasn’t going to be able to help Mariah if he got kicked out of the place.

“I’m sorry,” he said, holding his hands out in front of him so Ronnie wouldn’t think he was a threat. “My daughter is missing and I’m pretty sure she’s up there. She’s nine years old and I have to get to her.”

Ronnie’s jaw dropped. She and Darlene had kept their eyes on the little girl from earlier for the last couple of hours, watching her march up to man after man, asking for someone named David. So determined and excited to begin with, it was heartbreaking to watch her confidence steadily fail as the evening wore on. Ronnie glared at the thumb of a man standing in front of her, enraged that he would put the girl through everything she’d gone through that day, but if he was who he said he was, at least it saved her from having to call the police when the observation decks closed. It was going to be that time in just a few minutes, and she’d been dreading the call.

“You David?”

A wave of relief washed over Patrick at the sound of that name. Mariah was here, he knew it. All the tension, all the terror, he’d been holding in all day leached out of him, and his knees almost buckled. “Yes!” he shouted before realizing what he had said. “I mean, no. No, I’m not...I’m not David, I’m Patrick. Patrick Brewer. My daughter is Mariah and she ran away, flew across the country to meet-” He waved his hands in front of him, trying to stop the avalanche of words tumbling out of his mouth. “You know what, this doesn’t matter. You know about David, so you’ve seen my daughter. You can take me to her.”

“You got a ticket?”

Patrick stared in disbelief. “You’re...you’re really going to make me buy a ticket?”

Ronnie stared back, eyebrows raised and her hands on her hips. “How do I know this isn’t just some scam to get you a free ticket? You tell me some cock and bull story about a nine year old girl flying across the country, and I’m just supposed to buy it? You wanna go up to the top, you gotta buy a ticket.”

Patrick threw his hands up in frustration, but didn’t argue further. Instead, he just turned and stomped over to the ticket booth. Ronnie sauntered after him at a more leisurely pace, radioing up to Darlene to make sure she still had eyes on the girl. She reached Patrick’s side just in time to hear Ivan, the ticket agent ask for $72.

With the ticket in his hand, Ronnie decided to take pity on Patrick, leading him to the front of the line. There weren’t too many people still waiting to go up, but Mariah seemed like a good kid and she wanted to see her back where she belonged. With a quick word to Robin, they held back the crowd and she and Patrick slipped into the next elevator alone. Ronnie didn’t speak, just pursed her lips and stared at Patrick the whole ride up.

Once at the top, Ronnie made Patrick wait by the doors while she went to find Mariah. The guy didn’t look like a kidnapper or a creep, just a nuisance, but she still didn’t want to take any chances.

She found Mariah sitting on the ground by a telescope, her back against the wall and her head on her knees.

“Mariah, sweetie,” Ronnie said gently, kneeling down beside her. “You okay?”

Mariah turned her head away, her lower lip trembling. She scrubbed a rough hand across her face, angrily swiping at her tears.

“I thought he’d be here.”

Ronnie’s heart broke at the wobble in her voice. “I know, sweetheart,” she said, offering Mariah a pat on the shoulder. “But I think someone else is here for you.”

Mariah looked up, confused.

“Your dad,” Ronnie continued. “Patrick? He’s here.”

If Ronnie thought her heart was breaking before, it was nothing compared to the heartbreak she felt at the hopeful astonishment that took over Mariah’s face. “My dad’s here? He’s not mad at me for what I said?”

“C’mon.” Ronnie stood, offering her hand. “Let me take you to him.”

She led Mariah back over to the elevators, fully planning on pointing Patrick out and making Mariah identify him before she just handed the girl over, but Mariah’s shout of _Daddy!_ as soon as Patrick came into view ended that need.

Patrick turned as soon as he heard her, falling to his knees and opening his arms as she lunged at him, grabbing her up in a full body hug.

“I’m sorry!” Mariah sobbed, fat tears rolling down her face as she clung to her father. “Daddy, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it!”

“I know.” Patrick was crying just as hard, the relief at finding his daughter safe and sound too much for his body to contain. “I know, Bug, I know. Are you okay?”

Mariah nodded, her tears too thick to keep talking.

“You scared me!” Patrick squeezed Mariah tight, all the fears he had been trying so hard to keep at bay, raining down on him all at once, shaking him to his core. “You scared me so bad, I thought I’d lost you.”

Pulling back, Patrick couldn’t help but run his hands over as much of Mariah as he could reach, smoothing her hair, wiping the tears from her cheeks, squeezing her arms and her shoulders, just making sure she was real.

“What do you need?” Patrick asked desperately, ignoring the tears on his face. “What do I need to do to make sure you never do this again? I’ll do better, Bug, I promise.”

Flinging herself into Patrick’s arms again, Mariah shook her head. “I just need you, Daddy.”

* * *

David was almost sure a heart attack was imminent when he finally reached the Empire State Building. He flung the door open, but doubled over, gasping for breath, before he was two steps inside.

“The doors closed.”

David looked up at the sound of the drab, monotone voice, and was startled by how close the woman was standing next to him. Sunken eyes and a thin, downturned mouth was half covered by a tangle of red hair. An official name tag bearing the name ROBIN was pinned to the shirt of her uniform, and hunched shoulders were covered by a shockingly sequined cardigan.

“What?” he gasped, clutching at his chest.

“The doors closed,” she said again. “The last elevator already went up.”

“Oh no, please!” David heaved himself upright. “Please, I have a ticket!” David fumbled for his phone, pulling up the confirmation in his email and thrusting it forward.

Robin didn’t respond, just turned and ambled across the atrium towards the elevators.

“Mmkay, yeah,” David tried again, clutching at the stitch in his side as he trotted after her. “I don’t think you understand. I...I was supposed to meet someone, someone...someone very special. But then I got scared and I wasn’t going to come, and now…” As they reached the elevators, David planted himself solidly in front of her, determined to convince her to let him up. “Okay, look. I _need_ to get up there.” He immediately deflated under her blank stare, but tried just one last time. “Please. I just...I just need to...check.”

“Okay.”

Robin reached out and pushed one of the elevator buttons. She stood motionless, staring back at David, who couldn’t help but fidget under the weight of her disconcerting stare. When the elevator finally dinged and opened, she didn’t move, blocking his path completely.

“Oh...okay.” David raised his arms and attempted to tiptoe past. “I’m just gonna...gonna sneak...okay.” He sucked in his stomach, awkwardly squeezing past her into the elevator, only to turn and watch her follow him in.

As the doors closed behind them, David attempted a polite smile, but all he managed was an uncomfortable grimace.

“Do you like my sweater?”

“Mm,” David hummed weakly, starting to think maybe Patrick wasn’t worth it. “I hear...I hear sequins are really on their way back, so…”

Thankfully, he was spared any further conversation as the elevator doors dinged and opened. He could hear the faint sound of voices fading away and the ding of the door on the second elevator. He was so close, but again, Robin stood silent and unmoving, blocking his exit.

“Great, I’m just...I’m gonna..” David was just able to reach a foot past her and keep the doors from closing on them. With his hands raised above his head and another big breath in to shrink his stomach, he was able to scooch past into the observation deck.

He was alone. He could tell immediately, the other elevator having just closed on the last group of tourists. He took his time, wandering across the floor, but he was alone up there at the top of the world.

_I missed him._

David’s heart sank. He really had thought for a moment that this was it, that with Jake’s blessing he was running towards something incredible. He had truly believed that Patrick would be waiting here for him, ready and willing to love him.

Smiling ruefully, David shook his head.

 _I didn’t miss him_ , he told himself, his feet planted firmly in reality again. _He was never even here_.

David walked forward until he was at the edge of the observation deck, staring out across the city lights. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs completely, holding it until he could feel the burn, before letting it out slowly. He took another, and another, each breath more cleansing than the last.

It was time to let go, to leave his obsession with Patrick behind and move forward. Start fresh.

David was just starting to turn when his foot knocked against something soft. He stooped to investigate, straightening up with a little pink backpack in his hand. He knew he should turn it in, hand it over to Robin or someone else who worked here, but curiosity got the best of him and he opened the little back pocket, pulling out a credit card.

The name _Patrick Brewer_ stared back at him.

David’s breath caught in his throat and his heart began to race, the thump of its beating so loud he almost missed the ding of the elevator door.

“Thank you, again, for letting us come back up here.”

“I’m doing this for her.”

“Yep, got it.”

“I left it right over here, Dad.”

David whirled around at the sound of voices, just in time to see Patrick and Mariah rounding the corner. Patrick stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of David, his mouth dropping open and his eyes going wide. They both stared at each other, unable to move, both unwilling to break the spell and risk losing each other one more time.

“Uh...I think that’s my bag,” Mariah finally piped up once the silence had gone on for far too long, looking back and forth between the two men in confusion.

David’s entire body wiggled, shaking himself from his trance the way an excited puppy might shake off water. “Yes,” he said, clearing his throat and holding the bag out to Mariah. “Yes, this is...this is yours. Pink’s...pink’s not really my color, but I think it’s really working for you.” To Patrick he held out the credit card. “And this...this is probably yours. Or...well, I don’t know, I had a black card with my dad’s name on it when I was seven so...you know, could be hers.”

His own trance broken, a wide grin spread across Patrick’s face at David’s rambling. He held out his hand, pressing his lips together to hide his laughter as David tried to both hand over the credit card and shake Patrick’s hand at the same time.

“I’m Patrick.”

Without anything to hold onto anymore, David clasped his hands together, wringing them in front of him.

“Oh!” he exclaimed once he realized Patrick was waiting for his response. “Oh, I...uh...David.”

“You’re David?”

The excitement in Mariah’s voice surprised David. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had seemed that happy to make his acquaintance.

“Um...yes?”

“You sent us the email!”

“Okay, _technically_ I was not the one who sent it, but...yes. And also, very...uh, sorry about _that_.”

“I saw you get hit by a bicycle.”

Something about her dad’s voice silenced Mariah. She had a million questions she still wanted to ask, but as she looked up at the fond expression on her dad’s face, something told her she needed to give him a minute to himself if this was going to work the way she wanted it to.

“That...is correct. And will forever haunt my every waking moment, thanks so much.”

“What were you doing there?”

“Something completely insane?” Patrick hadn’t realized one person’s face could hold so many emotions at one time, but he watched David’s journey through fear, shame, elation, and a thousand others before finally landing on grim resignation. “Okay, I...I heard you on the radio and felt like I knew you. I...I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you ever since. But I’m not crazy, I promise.” David’s hands flew up, gesturing wildly in front of him. “Even though that’s exactly what a crazy person would say.”

Patrick couldn’t stop smiling. This, finally getting to _talk_ to David, this was better than anything he’d ever imagined. It didn’t make sense - he didn’t know anything about the man in front of him, but Patrick never wanted to let him out of his sight.

“That’s exactly what I said to Mutt and Twyla after I saw you in Seattle.”

David froze, staring back at Patrick in shock. “You know Mutt and Twyla?”

Now it was Patrick’s turn for shock. “ _You_ know Mutt and Twyla.”

David’s hands flew to his face. “They...they know my sister! She used to date Mutt before she married Ted. And...Twyla’s one of her best friends.”

“Wait.” Patrick couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’re _Alexis’_ brother? I saw you at her birthday party! You’re telling me I could have known you all this time?”

A warmth flooded through David’s body. That couldn't possibly mean what it sounded like it meant. He couldn’t possibly be the man Patrick had spoken about on the radio.

Could he?

Before David had a chance to respond, an annoyed tutting came from behind them. “Excuse me,” Ronnie called. “Some of us still have Valentine’s Day plans to get to and women in their lives who get very testy when people are late.”

“I guess we better go.”

Unperturbed by Ronnie’s scolding, Patrick grabbed onto Mariah’s hand and held out his other to David. “Shall we?” he asked, his entire body lighting up as David hesitantly laced their fingers together. “We have a lot to catch up on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned, epilogue is coming in just a few minutes!


	9. Epilogue: One Year Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: two chapters got posted today - the final chapter and the epilogue. Make sure you read both!!
> 
> We couldn't end without actually seeing them together, just for a bit, could we???

Before he was even fully conscious, David could feel his lips curling into a soft smile. He so desperately wanted to stay still, wanted to keep Patrick from realizing he was awake, but soft kisses were being pressed to his face, his neck, his shoulders, and he just couldn’t help himself.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Patrick whispered once he was sure David was awake enough to hear him, rubbing his nose gently against David’s until David squirmed and hid his face away in the pillow.

“It’s too early,” was David’s muffled reply.

Patrick rolled his eyes, tangling his fingers in David’s bedhead and laughing as David wiggled closer, purring happily as he burrowed himself deeper into Patrick’s embrace.

“ _ And happy anniversary to you, Patrick _ ,” Patrick teased, tugging gently on David’s hair, the obscene moan he was rewarded with sending a shiver down his spine. “ _ I’m so glad we’re here spending this day together and I promise to keep all my early morning grumbling to myself because I just love you so much  _ **_and_ ** _ I know you’re buying my breakfast this morning. _ ”

David turned just enough so that one eye could glare up at Patrick, even though Patrick simply laughed again in return.

He couldn’t really fault Patrick too much, though, for his early morning excitement. While living in separate countries, it wasn’t very often they got to wake up in each other’s bed.

Sometimes, David still couldn’t believe it, that their fairy tale story had actually come true. That somehow, despite the absolutely crazy measures they had taken, they’d found each other.

Of course, things hadn’t come together immediately. It had been a long year of facetime and international flights, of late night telephone calls and early morning text messages. They took things slow, getting to know each other, feeling each other out. Bit by bit, David let Patrick in, let him truly come to  _ know  _ him. And he did the same, allowing for Patrick to explore and experience and grieve for the man he’d never fully let himself be before.

Flopping onto his back with a dramatic sigh of exasperation, David turned his face to Patrick’s, demanding to be kissed, the only appropriate apology for so traumatic an early morning. Patrick was only too happy to oblige, tucking himself under David’s arm and kissing him deeply. He flicked the tip of his tongue against David’s lips, coaxing them open, then licked inside, swirling their tongues together and moaning softly as the taste of David flooded through him.

As part of their “taking things slow” it had been some months before David and Patrick actually slept together. A string of increasingly dirty text messages and one deliciously memorable night of phone sex preceded the act, so by the time Patrick finally took David to his bed, on an early summer night with Mariah safely away at a slumber party, both men ached with want for the other. They took their time, getting to know each other’s bodies with the same slow reverence with which they had discovered each other’s hearts.

David had never known sex like he had with Patrick. More than just the physical satisfaction he’d known with others, Patrick gave him a sense of connection. Patrick could read David like words on the page, and he made sure to read each and every one, bringing David to heights he’s never known before. He’d never laughed so much during sex before, had never known it as an act of pure, simple joy in another person.

As for Patrick, the bashful determination of that first night together soon gave way to an ease and playfulness that had been missing his whole life. David stood beside him (or lay beneath him) every step of the way, giving Patrick the ability to explore and discover, and with every step they took together, Patrick was more and more certain that this was right.

David was the one who finally made Patrick feel right.

“I know it’s early,” Patrick said, flashing a grin at David’s disgruntled expression, “but Mariah’s already texting me demanding to know where we are.” David’s whole face scrunched up in distress and he wiggled further down the bed, just one wild tuft of hair peeking out from the covers.

“Children are a menace,” came David’s grumbled response. “Yours especially.”

“Well, she’s definitely that.” Patrick began tickling David through the sheets. “Plus she’s mad at you.”

That got David’s attention. Throwing the blankets off himself, David clamored upright, his face a display or righteous indignation. “Me?” he screeched. “What did  _ I _ do?”

It took all of Patrick’s effort not to laugh in David’s face at his antics, but he knew that would just offend David further. So instead he pressed a soft kiss to David’s pout and pressed his lips together in a fond smile.

“She’s mad we didn’t wake her when you picked me up at my parent’s house. She hasn’t gotten to see you yet.”

David crossed his arms over his chest, his pout only growing. “Then why isn’t she mad at  _ you _ ?”

With another quick kiss, Patrick swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood, ready to start the day, even if it was going to take just a little more cajoling to get David up.

“According to her, she’s known I was hopeless for years. She still had faith in you, though.”

Though Mariah had taken to David immediately, just like she had always told Patrick she would, their relationship wasn’t quite as smooth as she’d imagined. For one thing, David didn’t have a whole lot of experience with kids, finding most of them to be far too loud, far too sticky, and lacking the discipline to choose an aesthetic and stick to it. For another, Mariah had concocted a man of cool sophistication in her imagination, and the jumble of brilliance, opinions, art, and anxiety that made up David Rose wasn’t exactly what she had in mind. But though he wasn’t the picture of glamour she had supposed, they had quickly come to a middle ground of respect and appreciation, solidly built on a foundation of love for Mariah Carey and an affinity for trolling Patrick.

Knowing that he had lost the battle of sleeping just a little bit longer, David crawled on his knees to the edge of the bed, wrapping his arms around Patrick’s neck as he sat back down to put clean socks on.

“Maybe,” David teased, ghosting his lips along Patrick’s jawline just to watch him shiver, “if you didn’t have to leave again in only two days, she wouldn’t be so anxious to see me and we would have time for a repeat performance of last night.”

David felt Patrick freeze beneath his hands. As that wasn’t at all the reaction he had expected, David let go, backing up several paces in concern.

“Patrick?”

Patrick turned very suddenly, his face gone serious and determined, and he grabbed David’s hand.

“What if I didn’t have to go back?” he asked. “What if we lived here?”

David could feel his heart begin to race. To have Patrick there with him in Toronto, to not have to plan dates around international flights...he wanted it so badly. The end of their trips were becoming more and more emotional, the distance between them feeling further and further apart. He wanted to be able to call Patrick up on a whim, to see him just because he felt like it. He wanted Patrick to drop in at the gallery to randomly bring him lunch. He wanted to play hooky from work, spending a casual Wednesday in bed together, giggling as Patrick faked a cough when he called in sick.

It made sense. For all that Patrick and Mariah had grown to love Seattle, Patrick’s family was in Toronto. His friends. He’d even taken David to the cemetery to meet Rachel.

“I...I want that.”

A brilliant smile stretched across Patrick’s face. “Good. Because I kind of got a job offer last night.”

“What?” David could barely get the word out, overcome with happiness. “Are you...are you sure?”

Scooping David up in his arms, Patrick kissed him soundly before pulling back, gazing back at him like he had just won the lottery. And if you asked Patrick, he had.

“Easiest decision of my life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, and now that's really the end. Loved writing this and thanks to everyone who read and enjoyed. Can't wait to write my next rom-com 😘


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